


Not What He Seems

by TheDuchessApproves



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher is a magnificent bastard, F/M, NSFW, Post-Finale, Post-Weirdmageddon, tw gore, tw incest, tw rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 42,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDuchessApproves/pseuds/TheDuchessApproves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying had always come naturally to Bill Cipher, so when Shooting Star told him his name was Stanley Pines and he was her hero, he went along with it. Now it's been five years, and it's time to take back his name and the ultimate power that he is owed.</p>
<p>When Mabel and Dipper come to Gravity Falls for another summer, preoccupied with their newfound desire for each other, will they even recognize that anything is amiss before it is too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Back the Falls / Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only going to say this once. Enter at your own risk. This story gets weird and then it gets weirder.

_ Agony. Sheer agony. Everything, mind and space and self consumed in ice-blue flames. Shock fresh like a raw, open wound. Tricked?  _ **_Tricked?_ ** _ This can't be,  _ **_this cannot be!_ ** _ No one beats me at my own game! _

_ “Look at me, you one-eyed demon! You're a real wise guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family.” _

_ Rage. Blinding white-hot rage. “You're making a mistake! I'll give you anything!” How? How could this be? These weren't the right lines,  _ **_I'm not the one who begs!_ ** _ “Money! Fame! Riches! Infinite power! Your own galaxy!” The agony crescendos, searing pain, erasing everything that ever was. Eternity so near and so far, vastness beyond even  _ **_my_ ** _ fathoming. “Please!” And the rage gives way to fear. This is wrong! This so unacceptably wrong! Is this what fear feels like? And from somewhere buried deep down the words emerge, old beyond age, known since the start of existence but never intoned. Power beyond reckoning, “ _ **_A-X-O-L-O-T-L!_ ** _ ” that name... always known, never spoken, “ _ **_My time has come to burn!_ ** _ ” The agony, the fear, the heat of the flames, all fueling this last desperate prayer, “ _ **_I INVOKE THE ANCIENT POWER THAT I MAY RETURN!_ ** _ ” _

_ Somehow, inconceivably, the pain doubles. A power rises within me like a tidal wave, acidic, darker than the void, tongues and knives of pure unadulterated might. It's working? Is it working?! All that remains is the name, the means, the vessel to make it possible, “ _ **_STAAANLEEEY!_ ** _ ” _

_ The impossible pain peaks at the moment of contact. A hand, the tool of doing, to the eye, the tool of sight. Everything is blinded, white, erased, a blank horizon out of reach. Vaguely, distantly, I can hear that voice mutter something, beyond my hearing or understanding. I am sinking into the nothingness of forever, quiet, accepting failure in my last thought. _

_ And then the pain rises again. This is different, something's different. Pain of...a body. A body? Throbbing head, aching back, sore limbs? I blink my eye open and everything looks wrong, out of balance, two sets of vision which wobble before becoming one. Two...two eyes? Who am I? What am I? Where am I? _

_ A child is in front of me. Long curly hair, pink apple cheeks, brown eyes gleaming with...hope? No one has ever been happy to see me...right? A light weight settles on my head...I have a head? “Grunkle Stan! You did it!” _

_ What in the hell kinda name is that? I look around and my eyes fall on the man behind her, with a young boy at his side.  _ **_Six-fingers._ ** _ Six fingers?  _ **_Stanford._ ** _ Oh. OH. Images I hardly understand rapid-fire in my mind. Shaking hands...a golden hand...triangles...a tear in the fabric of existence...brothers...  _ **_you messed with my family._ ** _ “Oh, uh, hey there...” I manage to say and it's the voice! The same voice that just sounded in my head. The voice of...  _ **_STAAANLEEEY_ ** _! I screamed that at him, didn't I? Before the moment I made contact with his body...his body...this body! “Kiddo?” The word is strange to me, but it feels familiar on my new tongue, “What's your name?” _

_ “Nyeh? Grunkle Stan?” the look of happiness is draining from the girl's face. I don't want it to. No one has ever been happy to see me until her, I know that much! And now tears are rising in her starry brown eyes, “It's me, Grunkle Stan! It's me, Mabel!” Mabel? That can't be right... that's not her name. The young boy pulls her away from me. I know him from somewhere, too... _

_ Then the man in the suit starts to talk, “We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill.” _

**_Bill._ ** _ We had to erase his mind to defeat _ **_Bill._ ** _ My ears are ringing and something's happening. Bill...I don't hear the rest of what the man is saying, I'm too fixated on that name... Bill. I  _ **_know_ ** _ Bill. I can hear him;  _ **_Name's Bill!_ ** _ Incongruous information floods my mind. The color yellow, a familiar laugh that makes me want to smile, some kind of circle.  _ **_Gravity Falls, it's good to be back! Name's Bill Cipher!_ ** _ Gravity falls? What exactly does that mean? Maybe I could ask that Bill.  _ **_All I ask in return is a small favor._ ** _ Right, Bill's help comes at a price, I wouldn't just give something away for free. Wait... I? I... am I Bill? _

_ “You're our hero,” the man hugs me. Hero? I  _ **_know_ ** _ I've never been called that before... _

_ They help me to my feet. They're leading me gently, holding my hands. These legs are strange to me, and I'm glad for the guidance. My eyes keep falling to where the girl's small hand is holding mine. She grips it tightly, lovingly... who is this creature who  _ **_loves_ ** _ me so much? I don't know if I'm Bill... but I know no one has ever loved him. _

_ We reach a structure, a broken triangular roof, splintered wood everywhere. As we approach, I find myself hesitating, my heels digging into the soft earth. I'm not allowed here. There's a wall of some kind, a barrier, it's going to hurt me...repel me. But if there's a barrier, it doesn't stop me. Maybe it's broken, too, like the rest of this...shack? Hmm...shack...  _ **_Mystery Shack, Stan Pines, Mr. Mystery._ ** _ Oh! Oh... I remember him. I actually remember him! They...do they think I'm him? _

_ The young boy in the pine tree hat... _ **_Pine Tree?_ ** _...knocks down the door and they lead me inside. They want me to be him, so I try to be him. Lying comes easier than breathing. Lies are my language...right?And if what I remember of him is true, lies are Stanley's language, too. They crowd around me, heartbroken, hopeful. The girl is next to me, the side of her thigh pressed against mine, her voice shaking, but hoping against hope. She's laying a book in my lap, opening it up to a picture. She's wearing that sweater in it, the one she's wearing now. The shooting star.  _ **_The Shooting Star._ ** _ That's her name, not Mabel! Shooting Star is looking at me, her eyes begging me to remember, to be her Grunkle Stanley. I'll have to lie to her. I can't bear the tears in her brown eyes. I will say anything she wants to hear, be whoever she wants me to be. _


	2. Playing a Part

**Bill**

Wasn't at all hard to convince 'em. Heck, they  _ wanted _ to believe their precious Stanley wasn't gone. They made it too easy, telling me everything about the guy I was supposed to be. They might as well have just handed me a script! And once I started hearing their thoughts again, it was a piece of cake! I could just see what they wanted me to say, see what they remembered and act like I remembered it, too. I've always been good at lying, and humans have always been good at believing bullshit.

The memories came back gradually, my own memories, that is. I let them keep calling me Stan Pines, but before too long, I knew without a doubt that I was Bill Cipher. Yeah, I'd had other names before that, in the flat world where I was first spat into existence. The Second Dimension, sounds like a swell place, right? Not so much. I remembered it burning and coming apart at the seams before I remembered what it was called or that it was my home town. The memory of the fires made me smile. After all, it  _ was  _ the first party I ever threw!

Pine Tree and Shooting Star (or Mabel and Dipper as I now called them) had to leave Gravity Falls, and it was with real disappointment that I said bye to 'em. This place would grow waaaay more boring without them around. They were pretty droll, I had to admit, brimming with curiosity and youthful energy which was refreshing. Hey, when you've been around the block as many times as me, you find that kinda thing refreshing. I was particularly sorry to see Shooting Star go. Even as I recovered my true identity, I couldn't shake the memory of her face greeting me back to life, full of fearful, hopeful love. When I slept, one of the needs of this dumb body that took some getting used to, I often found myself dreaming of her, imagining that that faith and love was directed at Bill Cipher and not Stanley Pines. It wasn't too far-fetched, after all, I've been a god, I've been a muse. She wouldn't be the first human whose adoration I won. I was determined to make it reality. But grudgingly, I accepted that I'd have to bide my time. My powers would take time to regenerate and besides, it was too risky to try anything while any memory loss persisted. So, I waited.

But, dammit, I've never been a patient guy! And leading Stan Pines' life is nothing if not  _ boring _ . Day in and day out, playing this part. I wake up from my dreams of trillions of years of deals and destruction and images of Shooting Star, and put on my costume. The flashy con-man suit, the dumb hat, the eye patch. The eye patch is the only thing I kinda like about this role, there's something comforting about seeing things through only one eye again. Human stupidity is something I know well, and many times have relied on, but I'm still amazed by the depths of idiocy that I see walking through the Mystery Shack. They keep on coming, they keep giving me their meaningless money, they keep believing the ludicrous sights I present to them.

Alone, after the empty-headed customers are gone for the day, I test my limits. The first time I watched blue sparks spitting from Stanley's fingertips, I thought my victorious laughter would shatter every window in the Shack. If I'm not careful, my own voice or laugh sometimes slips out. When no one's around, I relish the sound. I kept challenging myself, slowly remastering levitation, pyrokinesis, molecular manipulation. Ya know, just the basics. As I said, I've always been impatient. I never made any claims about being perfect! I'm impatient and reckless and vain. And I guess, those are the very faults that led me to compromise my own cover.

It had been nearly five years by earth-measure. Not that that means a whole lot, since linear time is a construct. Pine Tree and Shooting Star had come and gone four times since screwing up Weirdmageddon, their visits the highlight of each of year. It’s hard to explain it, but the easiest part of being Mr. Mystery was the summers with Pine Tree and Shooting Star. I didn’t love them or any of that gooey mortal nonsense, but they were fun and a whole lot more interesting than Sixer or Question Mark. Every year, Pine Tree was a little sharper, a little taller, a little more sense of self than the sweaty, squirmy infant he’d been when we’d first become acquainted. And every year, Shooting Star was an even more enthralling enigma. And that’s saying something, ‘cause when you can read minds, no one’s really an enigma. But she was. As she got older, some of the sparkly childish exoskeleton fell away, but what was left behind was even harder to understand. So much of the manic glee, the unbridled enthusiasm that I had assumed was a product of her being a child became only more pronounced. How many times did I watch in fascination as she coaxed her brother into breaking rules, taking risks, her brown eyes twinkling with what could only be called chaos? And yet, I couldn’t categorize her as just wanting to break rules. The _reasons_ for breaking the rules were just as bewildering. I’d watch in her mind (her very colorful mind) as a plan would take shape. The strangest things would inspire her, unsettling juxtapositions of innocence and destruction, Pine Tree dragged along for the ride by her overwhelming charisma. I never got tired of witnessing her at work, and in fact, with every summer I found her more magnetic. As I’ve said, I’ve been around the block, and I didn’t think I’d ever meet any monster or mortal that was original. But Shooting Star was nothing if not original, and as she became a chaotic storm of a woman, my need to split her open and see what made her tick only grew stronger.

With it, my powers were returning, **too.** But yeesh, being Stan Pines was still the dullest damn lie I'd ever told. And I've been in the trickery business for a  _ long _ time.  It musta been boredom that made me careless. I was preparing new exhibits for the coming summer. But do you have any idea how infuriating it is to create fake magical spectacles when you have real magic at your disposal? The temptation was too much for me, and I decided to have myself a little fun. Nothing crazy, just created a pretty realistic estimation of my old friends The Eye-Bats. Unlike the real thing, they weren't dangerous, essentially a hologram with mass.

Alright, in hindsight? Yeah, I probably shoulda done something a little less 'Bill Cipher'-y than Eye-Bats. I get that. But have you ever tried being anyone else after being Bill Cipher? Nothin's as fun as being Bill Cipher! You can't blame a guy for wanting to have just a  _ little _ bit of fun again!

“Stanley, may I ask you a question?” Old Sixer asked me one night over dinner. (By the way, eating is definitely one of the upsides of a physical body).

“Shoot,” I said, with long-mastered gruffness, looking across the table at my 'brother'. Sixer was looking at me with a familiar skepticism. Getting to know him again as his estranged, emotionally-constipated twin has been pretty enlightening after getting to know him as a partner and 'friend' back in the day.

“I took a look at the new summer exhibits,” he said, trying to sound casual, bringing a forkful of food to his mouth.

“Whaddya think, Poindexter?” I asked, with a coarse laugh, “Gonna scare the pants off some tourists, eh?”

Sixer nodded and put down his fork. He folded his six-fingered hands under his chin, and pinned me with a thoughtful stare, “Yes, Stanley. It's very scary. That's what I wanted to talk about, actually.”

“Heh, don't tell me you're scared of that junk,” I said around a large mouthful of food.

“Is it junk, Stanley?” he asked, his tone unamused, “Those Eye-Bats look pretty real to me...”

I raised an incredulous eyebrow.  _ Play it cool, _ “Yeah, well, they're not real. They're just some regular bats, prettied up by yours truly.”

Sixer didn't look convinced, but he didn't push the issue. He sure didn't drop the thought, though!  _ Is he lying to me? _ He wondered,  _ Why would he lie about that? I know a supernatural creature when I see one, he must know that. And I haven't seen one of those bats since we destroyed Bill Cipher. _ I was looking down at my plate, and he thought I didn't see him glance back at me suspiciously,  _ That's crazy. Cipher's gone. And Stanley would never work with him for something as silly as-- _

“I been thinking, Ford,” I interrupted, feigning cluelessness, “It's past time we went on another adventure.”

“Wha-? Went on a--?” Sixer stammered, train of thought successfully broken. Ha, even smart humans are so easily distracted! Just say what they wanna hear! “An adventure? You still want to do that?”

“Of course, I do, ya knucklehead!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms a little huffily, “We're not kids anymore, we should get around to it before we're too old. Unless  _ you _ don't want to...”

“No!” he insisted, at hearing my discouraged tone, “No, Stanley, of course I want to!”

I pushed my chair away from the table, plate empty, “Great, I'll call the kids and tell 'em not to come up just yet.”

“Of course, the school year is almost over,” Sixer smiled despite himself, looking forward to seeing his niece and nephew.  _ Don't count on it, smart guy, _ “How long do you think we'll be gone? Where were you thinking we'd go?”

I shrugged, as I dialed the number and held the receiver to my ear, “Doesn't matter much to me, s'long as we're in it together.”

Six-fingers smiled wider as the phone started ringing. Hopefully, an extra week or so would be enough time. I was pretty anxious to see Pine Tree and Shooting Star myself. I was mildly disappointed that Shooting Star wasn't the one to pick up the phone. After a brief conversation with her mother, we'd arranged that they'd be coming up the third week of June instead of the first. I put down the phone and returned to the table, where Sixer was eager to plan our trip. Internally, I was laughing my true laugh. He might not be as excited if he knew it was a trip he wouldn't be coming home from.


	3. Poker Face

**Mabel**

_ That's it, Mabel-girl, _ I grumped to myself,  _ You're officially a totally bonkers, crazy-bananas, certifiable nutso. _ All the worthwhile stuff extracted, I scooped up the crumpled papers and other junk left in my locker to drop unceremoniously in one of the trash cans placed throughout the hall. It was the last day of my junior year of high school, and I was scolding myself for the millionth time about something that totes should not have been a prob in the first place.

“Hey, Mabes, ya almost ready?” asked the problem in question. Oookay, that's not entirely fair. I wouldn't reduce Dipper to being just a problem, he was still my favoritest person in the whole wide world.  _ I _ was the problem. He wasn't doing anything wrong, apart from leaning against the locker next to mine in a way that was stupidly cute.  _ That! Thinking junkum like that is why  _ **_you're_ ** _ the problem here! _

“Oh, hey, bro-bro!” I said, thinking my voice was maybe just a pitch squeakier than it shoulda been. Dipper didn't seem to notice. I grabbed one last fistful of trash from the bottom of my locker, slammed the door for the last time with a satisfying  _ clang, _ and turned to Dipper. I had to tilt my head up a little. Ever since his growth spurt in sophomore year, he'd been about half a foot taller than me. He was wearing the usual Dipper uniform, jeans, nerdy tee shirt (today it was the Fight Fighters one I got him a few Christmases ago), and unbuttoned flannel shirt. All ambiguously clean-ish. Under the signature pine tree hat, he smiled at me and my tummy did that idiotic butterfly thing,  _ Pull yourself together, woman, he's your flippin' brother _ , I told myself again, as if it ever made a difference. I dropped the fistful of garbage into the nearest trash can, “Ready to skedaddle?”

He grabbed his backpack from where it rested by his feet and slung it over his right shoulder, “So ready. Let's blow this popsicle stand.”

Falling into step beside him, I tried to push weird brother thoughts to the back of my mind.  _ C'mon, so maybe you have some maaad icky feels for your bro, there's still plenty to be happy about!  _ And I really started to believe it as, amid the crowd of teenagers, we got closer and closer to the doors of the school and the intoxicating smell of freedom on the other side. Kids were always amped to get the heck outta school at the end of the day, but the  _ last _ day meant a particularly insistent crowd. As second nature, Dipper's hand caught mine to keep from losing me in the press of bodies. We've held hands like a bazillion times, since being twins pretty much means the buddy system applies to your whole life, but lately the most innocent touch from Dipper had sent a bolt of lightning through me. This was no exception as a powerful current  _ zinged _ through me, directly from my fingertips to my heart. My hand gave Dipper's an involuntary squeeze and he squeezed back, flashing me a crooked, conspiratorial smile. I was grateful that we were blocked from each other's view for a minute, as we squished between bodies in the sardine-packed exit. It gave me a second to try to un-blush myself,  _ that was a brother smile, you dumb poopface! _

Finally, as if breaking through the surface of water after getting tugged down by an undertow, we emerged from the doorway, and stumbled into the brilliant end-of-May sunlight. “Aah!” I sighed jubilantly, raising my arms and embracing the beautiful day.

Dipper laughed, hand still in mine and said in a happy, relieved voice, “Free at long last!”

I grinned at him, and cried gleefully, “Summer awaits!”

We stood there a second, taking in the utter relief of a schoolyear ending. With an entire summer vacation stretching ahead of us, seemingly endless, I could feel tension falling from my shoulders, worries falling from my mind. Sure, there was still applying to college to worry about, and developing a kickbutt portfolio, and dealing with my pesky crush on my twin brother, but for a little while, all of those problems seemed very far away and very manageable. Dipper squeezed my hand and I looked at him again.  _ Womp, so maybe that brother-crush problem isn't that far away _ . Though the sun was hitting us directly, the brim of Dipper's old hat shaded half of his face. I could see the pink-tipped nose, the mouth grinning mischievously in the light, the slightly gap-toothed mouth gleaming, while his quick brown eyes glinted out at me from the shadow. I was about to ask what he was smiling about when he gave me a small push back and challenged, “Race you to the car!”

“No fair!” I yelled after him as if we were still ten years old, breaking into a run. My feet flew under me, feeling the heat of the sun-cooked asphalt through the thin soles of my flats. The warm air rushing against my face whipped back my hair and my backpack bounced on my back with each step. I knew I couldn't beat him, but it was the principle of the thing. No one challenged Mabel Pines to a race without getting an opponent to be reckoned with.

As expected, by the time I reached our shared car (Mom's car from our childhood, a suuuper trendy maroon station wagon, complete with imitation wood paneling and a working cassette player), Dipper was sitting on the hood, smug smile on his face. He hopped down as I approached, reaching into his pocket and throwing me the keys. I caught them, warm in my hand from being in his pocket all day. I tried not to think about it. Instead, I whined. “You're a rotten cheat, Dipper Pines!”

Resisting a smile, he pulled a condescending face, “That was not cheating. It's not my fault we aren't evenly matched.”

I stuck out my tongue at him, “Evenly matched, my butt! It wasn't your dumb long boy legs that got you here first, you started with an advantage!”

“Yeah,” he said, fighting a losing battle against smiling, “The advantage of being the Alpha Twin.”

“Alpha Twin, shmalpha twin,” I scoffed, climbing into the driver's seat, “Get in before I leave without you, ya weenie.”

He climbed into the passenger seat and we held a bitter rivalry staring contest for all of three seconds before Dipper's fake scowl gave way to laughter. Turning the key in the ignition, I let myself break character and laughed, “You may be faster, but when it comes to poker faces, Mabel will always be the Alpha Twin.”

As we pulled out of the parking lot for the last time till September, Dipper gave my shoulder a congenial punch, “Sure, but let's hope neither of us ever has to rely on our poker face. These faces? Kiiiiinda open books.” I laughed along, but hoped that my thoughts weren't as easy to read as all that.

 

****


	4. Stan o' War

**Bill**

_ This has been a helluva lotta work just for appearances, _ I thought bitterly. Sixer and I had finally set sail after a week of preparations and we were now well out to sea. He was too smart for me to risk a transparent lie, so a real adventure had had to be planned. We acquired a real boat (it's real name was 'Lady Luck' according to the man who rented it out to us, but we called it 'The Stan o' War' for some stupidly sentimental reasons) as well as real tools. We needed a real anomaly to investigate (the Bermuda Triangle, of course, I've always been a sucker for dramatic irony!) Naturally, Question Mark was delighted to be the only Mr. Mystery until my return. It was June, but on the open sea there was a brisk, clean, salty wind. My hands were buried in the pockets of my coat, my left turning and twisting the rounded semi-circular object hidden there.

“It may be a good time to drop anchor for the night,” Sixer was saying to me, his glasses reflecting the gleam of the lowering sun.  _ Seems as good a time as any _ , “What do you think, Stanley?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. The more of myself I've regained, the harder it's gotten to speak in Stan's voice, “Whatever you think is best, Poindexter.”

Sixer seemed to pick up on my controlled tone, and after we lowered the anchor he put a hand on my shoulder and turned to me right on schedule, saying, “What's on your mind, Stanley?”

I held his gaze and figured, with a slight shrug, that I may as well start here. We were more than isolated enough. I sighed, heavily, and took a seat, “There's something I need to tell you, Ford.”

Without hesitation, he took a seat next to me, his eyes never leaving mine. I waited for him to give me a push, which he did. Humans can be so wonderfully predictable, “What is it, Stanley? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

“Oh, I know that,” I said, careful that he kept his eyes focused on me as the blue chains silently clicked shut around his wrists, “But I hope you're up for a lot of listening.”

He nodded attentively, “Yes, yes, of course. As much as you need.”

“Well, Sixer,” I said, gladly dropping my adopted voice and using my own freely, “It's reeeeally past time we had a chat.”

His eyes widened in horror, or maybe just disbelief, and I allowed my lips to stretch into a grin, “W-what did you say?”

“Whaddya say to a chat with an old friend?” I said, still grinning.

“No...”

“Aw, Fordsy, my old pal, don't tell me you don't remember me!” I watched him shudder as I let loose a cackle, “And after everything we've been through together?”

“This isn't possible,” Sixer replied, his face pale, “Bill Cipher's dead.”

I laughed again, “Oh, I assure you, Bill Cipher is veeery much alive.”

“You monster!” He spat, his fists springing up. Only then did he see the cuffs on his arms, recognizing the radiant blue, “What did you do to my brother, you fiend! He was just here!”

Now  _ that _ really was funny. I've never thought of myself as much of an actor, but boy, did I underestimate myself! Sixer cringed all through my ensuing laughter. Finally, wiping my eyes, I was able to answer his question, “Just here? Oh, Sixer, you've always been a funny guy! Your brother hasn't been here for five years!”

The sun was nearing the horizon behind me, and the light, direct and yellow, on Sixer's face made it hard to tell if it flushed or grew paler at my words, “What the hell are you saying? Five years? Bill, that's when we...” I saw understanding beginning to dawn on his face. Delicious, “You... it's been  _ you _ this whole time!? But Stan... what about Stanley!?”

“There you go, Sixer, there's that jumbo-sized brain in action!” man, had it ever been so hard to stop smiling? “It's been me this whooole time!”

He shook his head, trying to disbelieve it, “But Stan! What about Stan?”

I shrugged, “To tell ya the truth, I haven't given him much thought. But I figure since I landed his body after the two of us were in his head, it's a safe bet he's dead.”

Sixer's face twisted in a snarl and he fought against his bonds, “My brother, you piece of shit! I swear...I swear to god I'll fucking kill you!”

I laughed, “I really doubt that.” I said, opening my right hand. He stared, watching a blue flame blossom in my palm, undulating and licking at the air, undisturbed by the gusty ocean winds.

“Are you going to kill me then?” He growled, his anger vibrant in my mind, “Try to trick me into some deal?”

“Oh, no,” I shook my head, “I wasn't planning on it.” I closed my right fist around the flame, as though snuffing it, and pointed my index finger at him. He cringed in anticipation for the beam of blue light from my finger to hit him, but hardly felt it when he did.

“What...what are you doing?” He asked, dumbfounded, looking down at himself. It was an instant before he realized he was shrinking, his voice giving away his fear, “Bill, what are you doing to me?!”

I sighed, “Oh sheesh, Sixer, you have  _ no idea _ how good it feels to be called by my own name again! Boy, did I miss that!” As I said it, I extracted my left hand from my pocket, holding the magically-enforced Mystery Shack snow-globe I had concealed there, “Ya see, Sixer, as you mighta guessed, I didn't  _ die _ . But, I'll admit, you did leave me pretty weak. I wasn't Stan, but I might as well've been for all the good my magic woulda done me,” Sixer was pretty small now, about the size of a cat, and trembling with fear. His jumbled thoughts suggested that he expected me to shrink him down into nonexistence. Not a bad way to off him, but that was not the plan, “So, I waited. I've been biding my time, gathering my strength, and having a good old-fashioned game of brother impersonation.”

“Just kill me,” he squeaked, pathetically, now about the size of a guinea pig.

That made me laugh, “Trust me, pal, I'd love to. But killing you would really be a waste. I'd much rather keep you alive. You wouldn't wanna miss the sequel to Weirdmageddon, would ya? Besides, I might need your help with tearing a new rift.”

“I'll never help you,” Sixer squeaked, smaller now than a rat.

“You would to protect your dear darling niece and nephew,” I replied confidently.

_ Don't you dare touch them, Bill! _ He was practically too small now to make any sound, but my mind heard him crystal clear. He was small enough, not more than two inches tall. I snapped my fingers and he was in the snow-globe in my hand. I smiled down at him. He wouldn't drown, I'd made sure to arrange that, and he wouldn't starve. But on his own he'd never get out.

I pulled up the anchor, as the sun finished sinking below the horizon, painting the sky blood-red. I turned us around, setting sail for the shore we'd left behind a couple days prior. I looked down at the snow-globe in hand, “Lookit that,” I said, “a captive audience!” I saw Sixer's teensy six-fingered hands hammering uselessly against the glass, “Really, Fordsy, the Bermuda Triangle? Could I have  _ been _ more obvious?” I watched in delight as his head fell into his hands, realizing how stupid he'd been. “No matter,” I said, cheerfully, “Let's get back to Gravity Falls. I'm sure Pine Tree and Shooting Star will be devastated by the news of your death!”

Hah, so that's what the scream of a two-inch man sounds like through water and glass.


	5. On the Road

_**Dipper** _

_ Our fifth summer in Gravity Falls, _ I thought to myself, eyes dispassionately staring at the Mystery Shack bumper sticker on the SUV in front of us, illuminated by the headlights. We always saw more and more of them the closer we got,  _ Hard to believe how much has changed in five years... _

I peeked over at Mabel, asleep in the station wagon's passenger seat. Over a sundress, she had pulled on my green mathletes sweatshirt and had it tucked over her knees, only her head and bare feet sticking out.  _ Sweatshirt Town?  _ I wondered,  _ Not the same ring to it as Sweater Town.  _ Her hair was a little frizzy, and though her face was relaxed, her eyes were still red and a little puffy from crying. I felt a twinge in my chest, wishing I could draw her into my arms, comfort her, kiss the tears off of her cheeks... I shook my head, banishing the thought,  _ Seriously, you're thinking about that shit right now? She's mourning! You're mourning! Cool your jets! _

I sighed. I was glad she was getting some rest, she'd been pretty worked up since Stan's call last night. My own stomach flipped and I could feel tears prickling my eyes, thinking about Grunkle Ford. It was so hard to believe... it seemed impossible that anything could happen to him. He'd survived thirty years of dimension-hopping, Weirdmageddon, the 1970s... how could he be gone, just like that?  _ Everybody dies eventually, Dipper... _ I chided myself,  _ And it's usually just age, or illness, or error. _

I figured this fell under error. Stan hadn't been too detailed over the phone. He'd been on speaker phone and careful not to break our long-established rule of not mentioning anything supernatural to our parents. All he'd said was that there had been an accident on 'The Stan o' War' and Ford had been thrown overboard and he couldn't recover him.  _ Poor Stan... _ I thought, impatiently swiping tears from my eyes, blinking to see the road clearly,  _ After all that time separated from his brother, to lose him after only a few years... _ My eyes snuck another look at Mabel and my heart gave a throb at the thought of losing her. Her right hand, hidden by the end of the sweatshirt sleeve, cushioned her rosy cheek against the window, her dark lashes making tiny shadows that danced when we passed under the rare streetlight. Losing her was almost unfathomable. It seemed impossible that I could exist in a world without her.

Shaking my head again, I forced my eyes back to the road.  _ Idiot, are you trying to get both of you killed?  _ I tried to focus on the old BABBA cassette playing softly out of the car stereo. It had been played so many times (mostly by me, I admit) that the tape was worn, the audio a little muddier than it used to be. Really not the best for night driving, the static of the music along with hum of the pavement under the tires was a little too soothing. In an effort to keep myself alert, I reached over and twisted the volume knob a little louder. I'd been driving for almost four hours. Mabel and I should've switched off about an hour before, to honor our three-hour-at-a-time agreement, but I hadn't had the heart to wake her. Honestly, though, I had almost reached my limit for the time being. It was getting harder and harder to focus on driving, alone in the empty car in the dark, with only fuzzy music and sad thoughts of Ford for company. And thoughts about Mabel, but those were even more distracting.

I jumped in surprise when the next track started surprisingly loud. A squeak from the passenger seat told me that it had startled Mabel, too. When I glanced over, she was sleepily rubbing her eyes with sweatshirt-covered fingers, “Morning, sleepyhead.” I greeted, trying to sound normal.

“Morning, broseph,” she said, even though the dashboard clock clearly read 11:37. She gave a cute kittenish yawn, which I did my best to ignore, before asking, “Aw, Dip, why didn't you wake me up? I shoulda taken over driving like an hour ago!”

I shrugged, “I know you didn't get a lotta sleep last night. Figured ya needed it.”

I could hear Mabel's soft smile. The small wet sound of her lips parting... I licked my lips automatically at the thought,  _ C'mon, dude, really? Gross.  _ “Well, thank you bunches, bro-bro, but pull over up here so I can relieve you of your duty.” I smiled a little at the phrase, remembering when Dad used to say it as code for pulling over if nature called. To relieve yourself, or to doody. It was a stupid joke and it didn't make much sense, but it reminded me of simpler times. Mabel must have seen me smile, because she gave a hint of a giggle, “Well, that too, bro, if you gotta you gotta.”

Obediently (and pretty gratefully) I pulled into the shoulder to relinquish the wheel. Mabel stretched languidly, her smooth legs emerging from the bottom hem of my sweatshirt. She slipped her slender feet into the flats she'd kicked off, and opened the door.  _ Oh god, did she see me just staring at her? _ I felt a pit of embarrassment in my stomach as I unclasped my seatbelt and got out of the car. My back and right hip cracked as I stood up, releasing the tension of holding a position too long. As I walked through the beam of the headlights to the other side of the car, I stretched my arms and rotated my neck. It was with some reluctance that I climbed back into the car, folding my body in again and shutting the door. I looked over at Mabel in the driver's seat. Unexpectedly, she was sitting quietly, hands over her face, elbows resting on the steering wheel.

“Mabes?” I said, gently, reaching out and touching her shoulder, “Y'okay?”

I heard her draw in a deep breath through her nose and then she nodded. Her hands slipped down and she looked over at me.  _ God, she's so beautiful... _ I thought, achingly. Her brown curls, fluffed a little, looked soft and downy, cloudy even. She was smiling a little sadly, her sweet pink mouth curved just a little. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were especially rosy, from crying and sleeping. But as always, it was her eyes that drew me like a magnet. Under her brows which drew up sympathetically at the center, her brown doe eyes were glossier that usual, red-rimmed and full of galaxies of thoughts and feelings. I could've gladly looked into her eyes all night, trying to explore every one of those galaxies, but when she spoke it shattered that fantasy, “Yeah. M'okay. Just a little spooked about what it's gonna be like when we get to the ole G-F.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, a little feebly, “I'm sure it'll be...weird. But Gravity Falls always is, right?”

She looked away from me, starting the engine and pulling back onto the road, “Right you are, Dip.” She said, “But Stan...”

I reached over, placing my left hand over her right on the steering wheel, “We'll do everything we can for him, Mabes. And I'm sure we'll still have a good summer.”

I wasn't convincing either of us, but she took her hand off the steering wheel to hold mine properly, making my stupid heart rate speed up, “You're right, bro. I-it'll be a good summer.”

We drove on through the darkness, unsure what we'd find in Gravity Falls, our hands a steady lifeline between us.


	6. Welcome Back

_**Bill** _

My device was coming along pretty nice, if you ask me. I'd streamlined it plenty compared to what Sixer and I had built together in the old days, didn't need all the bells and whistles of seeming like an innocent portal. As long as it could make a nice rift, it would suit me fine.

My feeble body was tired. Eyes were burning and irritated, my hands fumbling with what shoulda been easy tasks. Can you believe I coveted physical form for so long? Sheesh, this fleshbag was a chore to maintain. I glanced over at the clock. I'd been using the old bedroom downstairs to work. It had been tidied up at some point, the dust wiped away and the blue carpet vacuumed, but I didn't know if the clock was set correctly. It read 2:16. Late. A rush of anger flowed through me,  _ Time doesn't even exist! _ I reminded myself hotly.  _ But this body does exist,  _ I countered,  _ and it has needs. _

With a sigh, I turned away from the pile of machinery that was beginning to come into shape. My eyes fell on the snow-globe on the cluttered desk beside me, “Sixer, old pal, it's time for me to call it a night. Keep an eye on--” I stopped talking at the sound of car-wheels crunching on gravel outside. I grinned, seeing the horror on Sixer's tiny face, “They're here!”

I listened to a car trunk slamming, and the screen door banged open, followed by a muttered, “ _ Oh, fudge _ !”

“Mabel, be quiet!” Pine Tree's voice scolded quietly, “Stan's probably asleep.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Shooting Star whispered, “It was an accident!” I heard two sets of footsteps move closer, from the back door into the living room, right around the corner. I heard a body limply  _ fwump _ into the old yellow chair. Shooting Star, no doubt, “Blaaaah...” she sighed, “Howdy doo, Mystery Shack, long time, no see.”

There was a brief silence, “It feels different,” Pine Tree said, cautiously, “Something's...not right.”

Shooting Star blew an unenthused raspberry, “No joke, artichoke. It's like someone died or something.” Her voice was stilted, unamused by her own blunt humor. I, on the other hand, had to fight down a laugh.

“Yeah...” Pine Tree said, unconvinced, “It's probably just that.”

I'd listened in silence long enough. I shot one last grotesquely wide grin at the snow-globe and as I approached the living room, I called out, “Kids? That you?”

Before I rounded the corner into the room, I was tackled in a hug. My smile was genuine as my arms wrapped around Shooting Star. I surreptitiously breathed in the scent of her, the litany of smells aligning with the thoughts I glimpsed in her mind. The strongest were strawberry-scented shampoo and recent tears. I found myself salivating at the smell of her tears, relishing the ease with which I could probe her thoughts in such proximity. Physical distance is no match for my abilities, but reading her mind all the way in California was generally more trouble that it was worth. As always, the welcome chaos of her mind greeted me, awash with garish colors and schemes. I didn’t have the luxury to get lost in the echoing laughter there, and had to force myself back to focusing on the physical realm.

While Shooting Star had launched herself at me, Pine Tree hadn't moved. He stood in the middle of the living room, his hat in his hand. He shifted his weight awkwardly, and then walked over and folded me into an affectionate but much less enthusiastic hug. Star nuzzled her cheek against mine, and I could feel the smooth warmth of her skin through my stubble, “Grunkle Stan,” she squealed, “It's so good to see you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, as she reluctantly released me, “'S'good to see you too, pumpkin.”

Shooting Star's eyes were gleaming with tears, but Pine Tree's were stony, maybe even suspicious, watching me closely.  _ He looks terrible,  _ he was thinking,  _ He shouldn't be up this late, it's a good thing we're here now.  _ He cleared his throat, voice cracking just slightly as he said, “It's been a long day, we should all get to bed.”

“I like the sounda that,” I grabbed Shooting Star's purple suitcase and started up the stairs towards the attic, the twins scampering after me. Apart from some cleaning Question Mark had done, the attic bedroom had been all but untouched for about ten months. My gaze landed on the moon through the triangular window across the room and suppressed a smile. One of Sixer's many nice little tributes to yours truly throughout the Shack.  _ How fitting that this house is now mine,  _ I thought.

Pine Tree passed me, entering the room, dropping his suitcase on the left of the two beds. Shooting Star lingered by me in the doorway. Her big brown eyes met mine and she looked up at me intently, brows knit in concern, her teeth worrying at her pink lower lip. I watched the blood flow back into her lip when her teeth released it, and her small tongue darted out to wet her lips as she prepared to speak. The human lifespan was so brief, it was crazy how quickly I'd watched these kids grow up. After all **,** Shooting Star was definitely no longer the kid who had greeted me back to life with her childish innocence, although that was sometimes how I still thought of her. That unnerving will to do good was still there, and the enthusiasm which bordered on insanity, but there was so much about her that was new as well. There was a current of anxiety there now which I had never tasted before, and it intrigued me. Likely just a product of her grief for her great uncle or of growing up and having more ‘responsibilities’. I found myself torn, as always, between wanting to taste her tears and wanting to elevate her above her mortal status, making her petty worries fall far below her. She raised a small, gentle hand and patted my cheek, “We'll catch up tomorrow, Grunkle Stan,” she assured me, “Go get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you too, kid,” I said gruffly, “G'night,”

“Night, Grunkle Stan.” Pine Tree called after me.

“Good night, Dipper,”  _ I'm never gonna get used to calling them by the wrong names. _


	7. Brotherly Love

_**Mabel** _

The sunlight woke me up, shining reddish-orange right through my eyelids to piss off my eyes. With a groan, I cracked only one open, hoping to convince myself that I was gonna be able to go back to sleep. I was immediately met by the sight of Dipper, only five or six feet away from me. Sharing a room always took a few days of adjusting, but it was gonna be harder this summer than ever before.

He was still asleep,  _ lucky duck, _ since my side of the attic was the one that got hit by the bright morning rays. He was lying on his side, facing me, the blanket tangled a bit around his legs, one white-socked foot sticking out. I looked at the way his arm was tucked over the blanket, the fingers curled loosely around the hem. My eyes traveled up his pale, wiry arm to the bare shoulder, which had grown somewhat squarer and broader in the last year. Seeing the bare skin, I realized he was probably only wearing boxers under that blanket. I'd gone to sleep first and, seeing his still-zipped suitcase under yesterday's discarded clothes, I could guess he'd foregone the hassle of digging pajamas out of his bag. I felt blood rushing to my cheeks at the thought. Dipper gave a small sigh-snore-grunt, and I smiled, eyes coming to rest on his slightly parted lips. With his face relaxed in sleep, I really couldn't deny that my bro was growing up. The baby fat had melted away from his cheeks and his jaw had squared out. There was brown scruff on his chin, of which I was sure he was super-duper proud. His brows had grown heavier, resting now in a puppyish attitude, lifted a bit in the center. Dipper's unruly brown hair was a mess, as always in the morning, completely flat on the sides where it had pressed against the pillow, tufts and cowlicks in every direction everywhere else. His forehead was only partially hidden by hair, exposing the birthmark that was his namesake. I liked seeing it, wishing he wouldn't always hide it. It was adorable, and unique, and awesome. Like him.

I groaned again, rolling onto my back, throwing my arm across my eyes.  _ How long were you just ogling your sleeping bro?  _ I scolded myself,  _ In what the heckity-heck world is that not a seriously creeper move? _ My stomach did a somersault, grateful for the gazillionth time this year that we don't have twin ESP or any of that jazz.  _ What the hay would Dipstick think if he could see your hella gross incest fantasies? _ I took a deep breath. Maybe he's be cool about it, Dip was a pretty non-judgmental guy when it came down to it. And he loved me. He'd accepted every other bonkers thing about me, maybe he wouldn't be weird about it.  _ Are you nuttso-buttso? Have you totally lost your mind? Non-judgmental would def not cut it. Combine Dipper's social awkwardness with the knowledge that his sister wants to get freaky-deaky with him and the dude would probably short-circuit. He'd never be able to look at you the same way again! It would ruin everything! _

And that was the problem. This internal argument always led to the same conclusion; it would mess up our relationship. And that just wasn't freakin' worth it. Yeah, it'd been driving me pretty loopy wanting to jump Dipper's bones, wanting to slide notes into his locker, wanting to hold his hand, and kiss him until I passed out from not breathing. But as much as I wanted that junk, it wasn't worth the risk.  _ Dip has always been your best friend, _ I reminded myself calmly,  _ you've always been there for each other no matter what. You've saved each other's lives, you've been to hell and back quite literally. He loves you with all his heart as a sister, and that's more than enough. _ I looked over at him, at his stupid, cute, angelic sleepy face,  _ D'you really wanna throw that all away for a crush? He's not just some guy, he's Dipper. He's too important. _

With a sigh of resignation, I swung my legs off the bed. My bare feet landed on the wood floor, worn smooth over time. I stretched my arms above my head, combed my hands through my hair, and threw one last forlorn look at Dipper before standing up. I pulled my nighshirt off over my head and bent down by my suitcase. I thought I heard something behind me, and checked over my shoulder at Dipper. He was still asleep, but his brow had furrowed a little. I shrugged,  _ he's just dreaming. _ I unzipped the suitcase, randomly choosing a pair of jean shorts and a tee shirt. Once I had wiggled into the shorts, I grabbed the pink headband I'd been wearing the night before and left the room, shutting the door quietly so that I wouldn't disturb Dipper.

The old wooden stairs creaked like crazy underfoot. I smiled a little to myself, grateful for the familiarity of the sound. I padded into the kitchen and my smile faded. Grunkle Stan was sitting at the little formica kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee.  _ He looks so sad...there are bigger fish to fry than Dipper around here.  _ I cleared my throat, summoned my trademark cheeriness and chirped, “Mornin', Grunkle Stan!”

He turned to look at me, and I could see a glint of happiness in his eyes, “Oh, hey there, pumpkin.” He watched me walk over to the fridge, stand on tiptoes to grab a box of cereal, “You sleep okay?”

Cereal bowl in hand, spoon in mouth, I took the seat across from him, “Like a baby,” I said, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into my mouth, “Blame that crisp Gravity Falls air.”

He chuckled, “We oughta bottle that and sell it in the gift shop. Ten dollars a pop.”

I raised my eyebrow, “Why not make it twenty?”

“Attagirl!” he smiled at me, his tone growing sincere, “It's good to have you back.”

I munched on a couple bites of cereal before managing to pose the question, “How're you holdin' up, Grunkle Stan?”

He took a slow sip of the coffee, which must have been completely cold, before releasing a rattling sigh, “I dunno, kiddo. I do alright by myself, y'know. But the last five-six years?” He paused and I thought I saw a smile threaten his lips, “It's hard to believe he ever came back in the first place.”

My heart dropped hearing him say that, “Ohh, Stan...” he looked up, meeting my eyes, surprised it seemed to hear me drop the 'Grunkle' that usual prefaced his name, “I swear to you, Grunkle Ford was really here.”

Grunkle Stan sighed, pushing his chair back abruptly, causing it to scrape loudly against the linoleum. He plodded heavily to the sink and drained his coffee mug, “I know, Mabel. Maybe it's just easier to pretend I didn't lose my brother twice.” That was the last straw. Dropping my spoon in my bowl, I stood up and walked over to where he stood at the sink, wrapping my arms around him from behind, placing my cheek on his shoulder-blade. I heard a gasp as I hugged him,  _ whoopsie daisy, unannounced Mabel hugs strike again _ , and then he said, very softly, “I couldn't save him. I failed him again.”

I squeezed Grunkle Stan and shook my head a little, “No, Grunkle Stan, you didn't fail him. He was your brother and you loved him. I'm sure you did everything you could to save him.” The words came to me automatically, but a voice inside my head was nagging  _ Slow down the Mabel train, you're not exactly the authority on the ins and outs of normal brotherly love. _


	8. Gift Shop

_**Dipper** _

The last customer was hardly into their car when I gratefully flipped the sign on the door to read “Sorry, we're closed!”. My feet were aching from standing all day and I was more fidgety than usual (apparently, somehow that was possible). I was itching to talk to Grunkle Stan, but it was the third Saturday in June and tourist season was already upon us. Both Stan and Soos had spent the day giving tours, while Mabel and I had manned the Gift Shop. Neither of them had yet returned for the day. I grabbed the broom by the door and carelessly swept the floor, moving the dust around with no intention of making the room any cleaner. My eyes left the floorboards of their own accord, darting to Mabel.

There was something strange, if somewhat fitting, about Mabel occupying the stool I still thought of as Wendy's. This was the second summer that Wendy Corduroy wouldn't be coming back to work at the Mystery Shack, instead taking summer classes at her college on the east coast. It had been ages since I'd thought of Wendy in a romantic sense and we'd settled into a supportive and pretty great friendship since then. She'd fumbled a little, taking a gap year between high school and college, unsure what direction to go in. I'd been humbled by how much she confided in me and took my advice to heart during that trying time. She'd felt pressured to stay in Oregon, make her dad and sibs proud, join the lumber business she'd pretty much grown up in, but she also had her own dreams she wanted to pursue. I didn't tell her to go to college, but I made sure she knew that I thought she was capable of anything. I felt a swell of pride at the thought of Wendy, right now, working her butt off in class. The very same butt that used to grace the stool by the cash register in the Shack, where my sister was currently sitting, absentmindedly drawing on the back of receipts.  _ Maybe that stool has some love-potion-y weirdness,  _ I wondered, my gaze following the graceful flow of Mabel's hair,  _ Which makes me fixate on whatever hot girl sits there. Gravity Falls, amiright? It's probably just a Gravity Falls thing. _

Forcing my eyes back down, I felt color rising to my cheeks.  _ You're a fucking idiot, you know that, Dipper? _ I chastised myself,  _ First of all, that makes no freaking sense. You've been having weird gooey thoughts over Mabel since before Wendy stopped working here. Secondly, you couldn't stand that chick Gabby that Stan had working here last year, and it wasn't because she didn't fit the hot girl requirement. 'Cause between you and yourself right now, let's admit she was pretty hot. And third, most importantly, also about the hotness thing, how many times do I have to fucking remind you that you're  _ **_definitely not_ ** _ supposed to think of your sister as a hot girl! _

“Yo, earth to Dipper!” I realized, startled, that Mabel was talking to me. So startled, in fact, that I dropped the broom.  _ Damn, very suave, Dip _ , “Dippinsauce, do you read me? I repeat, do. You. Read. Me? Over.”

“Oh-I, uh, yeah.” I stammered stupidly, picking up the broom and leaning on it a little, “I, ah, yeah, loud and clear, M-Mabelton.” I added hastily, “Uh, over.”

Mabel's left eyebrow quirked up and her lips twisted into a smirk, “Holy moley, broseph, what caliber of cray-cray Dipper obsessing did  _ I _ just interrupt?” I cursed my face for getting redder, “You look like I just walked in on you hiding a dead body in a closet full of drugs and gay porn!” So absurd was that rhetorical that it couldn't even embarrass me (at least not more than I already was) and a laugh barked out of me. There was something so insanely incorrect about insinuating I had a gay porn stash (considering that I had quite literally been thinking about the butts of hot girls) that I felt myself relax. Mabel laughed with me, her own cheeks blushing a little (very prettily,  _ shut up, she's your sister _ ) before she cocked her head and asked again, “No, but realtalk, bro, what the heck was going on in that big ole brain o' yours?”

“Oh, y'know,” I said, trying to conjure an excuse, “Uhh... just thinkin' about... um... just thinkin' about Grunkle Ford, actually.”

Despite my stumbling speech, she seemed to accept the answer. It probably helped that it was kinda true. When my mind hadn't been straying to Mabel, I'd been puzzling over our late great uncle and the mysterious nature of his death, anxiously looking forward to asking Grunkle Stan about it. Mabel's teasing smile dropped and she sighed, “Oh. Yeah, I... I've been thinkin' bout him, too...”

I mentally kicked myself, “Aw, Mabes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bum you out.” I said, honestly, lifting my hat and bashfully pushing my hair over my forehead, then tugging the bill of my hat a little.

She shook her head, “Nah, no sorries, dorkus. I really have been thinking about him anyway.” Her brown eyes moved over to the snack machine, “I keep expecting the stupid snack machine to  _ whoosh _ open and for him to come out, babbling 'bout some anomalies and energy readings and algorithms and all other kinda nerd junk.”

I smiled, sadly. I'd been so focused on figuring out the mystery of Ford's death that I'd been ignoring the biting pain of his absence. It was probably the main reason I  _ was  _ focusing on it so much. Not that I ever was great at resisting a mystery, but I'm also the first to admit I'm pretty good at avoiding facing my feelings. Of course, Mabel was missing Grunkle Ford. She's always been way more feeling-smart than I am. I looked over at the snack machine, waited for a minute, hoping it would swing open and then sighed, “Yeah,” I agreed lamely, “Something's definitely missing without him.”

Without hesitation, Mabel hopped down from the possibly-magic stool and walked over to me. She purposefully and gently wrapped her arms around my midsection, placing her head on my shoulder. Dropping the broom, I lifted my arms to reflexively hug her back. As always, as it had for the last seventeen years and ten months, hugging Mabel felt natural and right. Her smell and her caring touch were familiar to me, more familiar and comforting than anything in the world. How many hugs like this had we shared? Calm, consoling, a second nature response to anything hard or scary or painful. That ranged from skinned knees to breakups to bad dreams to difficult math homework and now, to grief. Any time life had ever sucked, even for a minute, Mabel had been there to offer a reassuring hug. A bubble of gratitude inflated in my chest. Confusing, stupid feelings about her aside, Mabel was the best friend a guy could ask for and I was so lucky to have lived my whole life with her at my side. I squeezed her thankfully, and planted a kiss on top of her head. I felt her smile against my chest.

Grunkle Ford really was gone. For some reason, that realization struck me now for the first time, and it was like being hit by a bus. My mind flooded with memories of him, and it occurred to me that besides Mabel, he had been the only other person whose confidence in me had been unwavering. Throughout Weirdmageddon, throughout every investigation and experiment we had shared in the past five years, he had believed in me every step of the way. When my faith in myself faltered (which it did pretty much every ten minutes like clockwork), he had always built me back up and pointed me in the right direction. I remembered how in awe of him I had been at first, thinking of him deferentially, with the utmost admiration, as The Author of the journals. In many ways, I found a kindred spirit in him, someone who shared my thirst for knowledge, my blindness to social cues, my strict moral code, and I had to admit, my ego. But he was wiser, stronger, able to hold his own in the face of danger, not held back like me by a million insecurities and nagging doubts. I didn't only love him, I looked up to him, hoping to become him.

“Aw, hussshhh,” Mabel cooed, stroking my back, “'S'gonna be okay, Dipstick.” I wondered for a second why she was saying that before realizing in embarrassment that I was crying.  _ Oh, great. _

I gave her a squeeze and wiped my face on my forearm, impatiently, breaking the hug, “Thanks, Mabes.” I said, my voice thick.

“Don't mention it, Dip,” she said, wiping her own eyes, “What're twins for?” I smiled down at her, in lieu of an answer, thinking how crazy it was for her to be so pretty and also such a good person, when I heard the bang of the screen door at the back of the Shack swing open, 

“Good one, Mr. Pines.” Soos was saying, in his usual tone of doggish admiration, alongside the sound of our Grunkle's gruff chuckling.  _ Finally,  _ I thought, giving Mabel's hand a quick squeeze,  _ Time for some answers. _


	9. Misdirection

_**Bill** _

It was my favorite time of day, when the sun's that great yellow and the darkness is coming, when Pine Tree got up the nerve to ask that inevitable question. We were sitting on the back steps of the Shack, companionably, like an honest to goodness mortal family. If I'm being frank with you, I was a little distracted. I was on the lumpy old couch, and Shooting Star was curled up against me, my arm draped over her. It was kinda chilly for June, and I could tell she was cold, and I was fascinated watching her absentmindedly rub her bare legs together, her feet and knees pink. Sexual desire was one of the strangest things about having a human vessel, and by now I should have been used to it. I never could tell where my desires ended and the desires of Stanley’s body began. No doubt he would have been horrified if he found himself ogling his sweet little niece, but I felt no such qualms. First of all, she wasn’t  _ my _ niece. And second, the dumb rules mortals applied to their biological instincts didn’t interest me. Whatever the source, I wanted Shooting Star both in the way that a demon wants a mortal (to play with, to own, to use, to break) and in the way that a mortal man wants a mortal woman (to taste, to feel, to claim, to breed) **.** I was giving her knees a sideways glance when Pine Tree asked, voice cracking badly for the first time in years, “Grunkle Stan... what really happened to great uncle Ford?”

At the sound of his query, Question Mark turned around to look at me expectantly and Shooting Star sat up, hugging her knees, waiting for a response. I felt a wave of anger at Pine Tree for causing his sister to move and imagined how nice it would be to turn him inside-out. But all eyes were on me, and I had planned for this. I gave a rasping sigh. Shooting Star's hand was on my shoulder in a second, “It's okay, Grunkle Stan, take your time.”

“'S'okay, sweetie,” I said, making sure my voice was good and heavy. Had to  _ really _ sell it. “It was my fault. The whole thing was my dumb idea. He'd wanted to check out the...the Bermuda Triangle,” on cue, Pine Tree's brow creased, “But he wasn't ready. Had more research to do or somethin'. But I was impatient, made him feel guilty, we rushed it and...and...”

“Oh, Grunkle Stan.” Shooting Star said sympathetically, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

“The Bermuda Triangle, huh?” Pine Tree asked, nervously biting his thumbnail, “What happened there?”

“Kid, we never made it to the stupid Triangle!” I near-shouted. A guilty look overtook Pine Tree's face, and without even checking his thoughts, I knew he believed me. Easy.

“What went down, Mr. Pines?” Question Mark asked, his tone curious and cautious, like a kid prompting in a scary story, “What happened with the other Mr. Pines?”

“It was stupid.  _ I _ was stupid.” I shook my head to emphasize the self-doubt I had never felt, heard Shooting Star click her tongue in sympathy, “Ford was trying to tell me that the waters we were in were dangerous. And he was doing that  _ thing _ . That thing he's done since we were teenagers, talking to me like I'm stupid or somethin'. And he's lecturing at me about these sea serpents and giant squids and what-have-you like he's talking to a dumb little kid.” I paused, making a show of wiping my dry eyes, “And I told him not to talk down to me, and he told me he wasn't... and I don't know, I just  _ saw red, _ ” I dropped my head in my hands.

“Grunkle Stan...” Pine Tree said, softly, fearfully.

“I... _ we _ fought. We hadn't fought in a long time, but I dunno if we ever really stopped being angry.” I released another racking sigh, paused as if collecting my thoughts, “I know you kids want some heroic story. But to tell you the truth, we were fighting, wrestling and wriggling like snot-faced kids. And when something knocked against the boat...something  _ big _ ...neither of us were ready and we  _ both _ got thrown into the water.” I heard sobs and realized Question Mark was crying. At least one of them believed me so far, though he'd eat his own hands if I told him to, “It...it was chaos...” I suppressed the smile that wanted to accompany that word, “It was dark... the water was choppy... there were  _ things _ in the water and they seemed... hungry... I made my way back to the boat, somehow, hardly... and I called for him. I called and called, threw life preservers, shot off flares. I...I yelled all night...” I released a breaking sob, crying into my hands, giving 'em some real waterworks. Made like I couldn't eek out another word.

Shooting Star had heard enough. She was on me in a minute, folding me in a hug, cooing and stroking, her own tears falling on my face. Her tears always smelled so good, the salt, the pain, and the way they wet and heated her skin, enhancing the scent of her rich blood right beneath the surface. I knew I had 'em when I felt Pine Tree and Question Mark wrap their arms around us, turning it into one of those infernal group hugs. I was perfectly happy with only Shooting Star's ministrations, thank you very much. I sent out some feelers, see if they were all on the same page.

_ Oh poor poor Grunkle Stan,  _ Shooting Star was thinking,  _ He must feel so frick-frackin' guilty! Poor Grunkle Stan! Why couldn't they just get along? I hope that never happens to me and Dip, that's why I can't... _

_ Geez, dood, this is some heavy stuff,  _ Question Mark was thinking,  _ Dooo-hoo-hooood, Mr. Pines and his bro never could get it together. Aw man, that's so crazy... _

_Just like that?_ Pine Tree was thinking, _I can't believe it was something so...avoidable. So preventable._ _Ugh, why did Grunkle Stan have to be so immature? Why couldn't he just listen to Grunkle Ford for once... Oh man, I can't believe he's really gone..._

Very nice. I'd convinced them suitably. It was all a matter of misdirection, as usual with tricking anyone. I just made it about me and Sixer's tragically broken relationship, boo hoo, and none of them would even wonder. Pine Tree was tempted to disbelieve it, to be loyal to old Sixer, but it didn't trump his loyalty to me.

That was too easy.

 


	10. Mack Manuel's

**Mabel**

I fumbled around in the back of the closet, through piles of junk Dipper and I left here over the years, hoping it would still be there. _I need a drink_ , I had thought somewhat jokingly, trudging up the stairs to the attic, and I'd be damned if I wasn't gonna try and have one. Not that I'm much of a drinker, though I've been known to imbibe on more than one occasion. Dip was even less of a drinker than me, I'd never seen him venture further than a tiny obligatory sip from a solo cup at a party or two.

Underneath a pile of old papers from our first summer in Gravity Falls ( _Who Is The Author???_ ) my hand connected with something cool and smooth. Gratefully, my fingers closed around the neck of the bottle and I hefted its moderate weight out of the closet.

“The heck are you looking for, Mabes?” Dipper was asking, just as I shut the closet door. He was lying back on his bed, sideways, legs hanging off the side, staring blankly at the slanted ceiling.

“Tada!” I said, attempting to sound a little excited, holding the bottle directly in front of him with a flourish.

He propped himself up on his elbows, “Where the hell did you get a bottle of whiskey?” he asked, staring at the bottle incredulously before adding with a hint of judgment, “ _Cheap_ whiskey?”

“Pfft! Well, ex-cah- _uuuuse_ me!” plopping on my bed, “Since when did you even know the _difference_ between cheapo and fancepants barleysauce?”

“That bottle says 'Mack Manuel's' on it, Mabel,” Dipper said, his mouth spreading in an unimpressed smirk, “Anything that tries _that hard_ to sound like Jack Daniels was probably made in someone's bathtub.”

I couldn't help but laugh and shrugged in a _you got me_ kinda way, “Okay, okay, point taken. But I was saving it for an emergency, and hot diggity dawg, this is a good time for it.”

Dipper sat up, crossing his arms, “You're not seriously going to drink right now, are you, Mabel?” in answer I started twisting the cap, _not like I needed his permission._ He stood up, “Are you kidding me?”

Taken aback a little by him raising his voice, I stopped mid-twist. I pinned him with my best _I'm an independent woman_ look and said, “Look, Dip, I'm not gonna like drink my feelings and black out. I just...want to take the edge off. Don't look at me like I'm about to slit my wrists or something.”

He cringed visibly and muttered, “That isn't funny.” before coming and sitting next to me on my bed.

“I know,” I replied, a little sheepishly, “Sorry.”

We sat in uneasy silence for a minute before he asked, “So where did you get it?”

I resumed twisting the cap and shrugged, “Oh, I swiped it from that going-away slash birthday shindig Wendy had for us a couple summers ago.”

“Oh,” Dipper said, and I saw his cheeks getting a little pink, “The night you... uh, let loose?”

It was my turn to blush. That night had been the first time I'd ever been drunk. I didn't remember all of it, and I got the nagging feeling Dipper had omitted some stuff when he had filled me in. But I knew for sure that I had kissed Wendy and thrown up on the bro, so I guess he had reason to be a bit nervous about me drinking. “Uh... yeah. That night.” He got redder, “But don't worry! I'm not gonna let loose tonight! I just wanna...relax.”

“Okay, Mabes, pretty sure that's what 'let loose' means,” Dipper said, flopping back flat on my bed, “But whatever. Go ahead. But I'm cutting you off if you get _too_ relaxed.”

“Deal,” I said, tearing my eyes off of the little sliver of skin that peeked out under his tee shirt. Something about that little bit of downy brown hair in the center, something about where that might lead. To banish thoughts about Dipper's happy trail or its happy destination, I tilted back my head and took a deep swig directly from the bottle. It distracted me all right, burning my tongue and sliding hotly down my throat. I made a little choking sound and smacked my lips, trying to rid the taste from my mouth, feeling the whiskey move like fire down my esophagus. I heard my brother snicker at my reaction, and looked over my shoulder at him. I tried to muster a glare, but he looked so cute lying there on my bed, I didn't succeed. Instead I sharpened my voice, “Oh yeah? Think it's easy, champ? You try.” I thrust the bottle at him.

I was fully expecting him to decline. I knew he didn't like drinking and he'd just made such a stink about me doing it. I was surprised when he sat up and grabbed the bottle from me. He saw my eyebrows shoot up and smiled in satisfaction, “Fuck it,” he said simply, “It's been a rough day. Some relaxing might do me some good..” and took a drink himself. Hypnotized, I watched his lips close around the opening, fitting right where mine had been. _Oh diddly-drat,_ I thought, in the brief moment that his arm was raised, head tilted back, eyes closed, _Didn't think I'd find this sexy._ Then he pulled the bottle from his lips, his adam's apple bobbed ( _oh wow_ ), and opened his eyes. An instant later, the illusion was shattered when he started hacking, face twisting, sticking out his tongue, shuddering, “Ugghh, Mack Manuel! Why, man! Ugh, I hate you, Mack, I hate you!”

Snatching the bottle back, incapacitated by giggles, I watched Dipper wipe his tongue on his shirt, in hopes of removing the aftertaste as he lay back down. That was honestly just no fair. Focusing on his tongue wasn't a good thing. I thought about how it would feel in my mouth, burning like whiskey, wet and insistent, circling my own. _No, no, holy moses, don't think about kissing him!_ To try and escape the thought, I averted my eyes, only to be met by the sight of his stomach, bared by his tugged shirt. More of that stupid creamy boy skin and that stupid distracting happy trail, leading down his flat tummy to the waistband of green boxers, less than an inch poking up above the waist of his jeans. My jaw nearly dropped as my eyes landed on the magic spot where his left hip jutted up a little, the boxers stretched over it, a shadowy gap formed by the hollow of his pelvis and the elastic of the waistband. My fingers throbbed to slide into that little spot, right between his clothes and his skin. To distract my anxious, naughty, stupid fingers, I used them to lift the bottle to my mouth again, gulping the horrible stuff twice, hoping maybe the burning would sear that forbidden scrum-diddly-umptious thought right from my mind.

“Whoa, there, Mabes,” he said, sitting up and grabbing the bottle the instant it left my lips, “Maybe pace yourself a little.” I met his eyes, over my shoulder. His facial complexion had returned to normal, but I saw the blood rise again in his cheeks as he held my gaze, a slight goofy smile on his mouth. Maybe he saw my eyes on his lips, saw it as a challenge, but he suddenly raised the bottle to his lips and took a good long drink, just like me, before placing it on the floor a few feet away, gagging on the taste slightly less than the first time.

“Maybe you might wanna pace _yourself_ ,” I chided weakly, surprised to see him touch another drop after his reaction to the first sip.

He gave a light chuckle before running his hands back through his hair, pushing his pine tree cap off his head, brushing his bangs up off his birthmark. I wondered if his hands were tingling like mine, his ears humming gently. He shook his head, “Man...what a day...” he said, his tone stunned.

Once he said it, it hit me, too. Watching him sleep this morning, all pretty and cute and calm... hard to believe that was only _this_ morning. Working in the Gift Shop, as if things were normal, as if nothing had changed, pretending not to stare at my own bro and pretending Grunkle Ford was right around the corner. And Stan's story, poor Grunkle Stan! Poor Grunkle Stan crying openly like he never did, blaming himself like he _always_ did. Poor Grunkle Ford... I heard a whimper bubble out of my throat, before I had any hint it was coming. Like a knee jerk reaction, instantly, Dipper wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, “I can't believe he's really gone...” I blubbered.

Dipper petted my hair, leaning back so we were both lying down, my head on his shoulder, “I know,” he said, his lips pressed to my forehead. The touch sent lightning through me, crackling all the way to my fingertips and toes, “But it'll be okay. I've got you.” My heart soared a little at the words, trying to ignore my mind insisting, prodding, scolding, _He's your brother. He's your brother. He's your brother._

 


	11. Magnet

_**Dipper** _

_This is why you don't drink, stupid,_ my mind intoned impatiently. My attention was fully focused on Mabel. Her brown curls were so soft and fine under my fingertips. My hands were a little tingly, which only made the sensation of petting her hair more addictive. My throat and mouth were on fire and I tried to tell myself, _no, you don't drink because alcohol tastes like death_ but I knew it wasn't true. I needed my judgment to not be impaired, I'm enough of a freaking mess when I'm in control.

Mabel's tears had abated pretty fast. After all, she'd definitely exhausted her tear ducts already today. She shifted herself onto her back, rolling her head off my shoulder so that my bicep was tucked under her neck. The decreased contact made it easier to breathe, but also set off a painful twinge in my heart. _No, I want to hold you_ , I thought instantly before snuffing the thought. She wiped her nose on her arm and smiled at me sideways, sending a jolt to my heart, “Thanks, Dip. You're always there for me.”

I smiled back, “Don't mention it, dummy. You're my favorite person.” _Why did you say that out loud!? Cool it!_

Her alcohol-flushed cheeks rose up to her eyes in a widening smile, “D'aww, you're a sappy drunk, Dipster!”

“Pfft, what? No! No, I'm not,” I sputtered a little, “I mean, I'm not drunk.”

She laughed at that, her tinkling laugh a little thicker than usual, “You are _such_ a dweeb.” Her laughs trailed off and we were quiet for a minute. _Okay, so maybe I am drunk_ , I admitted to myself, feeling the whiskey continue to take its effect. My head felt both very light and very heavy and I found that when I turned it, my vision blurred for just a millisecond longer than usual. My skin was warm and buzzing, and I could practically see electricity crackling on my arm and along my side where my body made contact with Mabel.

“Hey, Dip?” She said, turning onto her side, her cheek pressed against my arm. I raised an eyebrow for her to continue. She smiled an impossibly cute shy little smile and said, “You're my favorite person, too.”

I couldn't look away from her eyes. I never understood how anyone could say we had the same eyes. Sure, they're both brown, but once you look at all, hers are so much more captivating, so beautiful. Mine were brown, too, yeah, but mine were just a uniform dirt brown. Nothing to see here, just a set of fully functional optical lenses and all. But Mabel's eyes were something else entirely. Where mine were just a flat brown, hers had so much depth, dimension. They were darker than mine, like dark chocolate, like fertile dark soil. And they had subtle rings around the iris, swirls and striations of near-black and mahogany and amber gold. It was so easy to get drawn into them, to lose oneself in that brown galaxy, twinkling and richly warm.

And then they fluttered shut. It took me a second to realize why her magnetic eyes were suddenly gone from view, and when it hit me, it hit me like a punch to the gut. Our faces were only about an inch apart, noses almost touching, my arm still under her head, my hand wrapped possessively around her back. I could feel her damp breath, the smell of the whiskey hot and heavy in my nose. I looked down at her lips, saw the tiny pink point of her tongue dampen them nervously and retreat, poised just inside the dim off-limits territory of her mouth. I licked my own lips, _just one little kiss?_

But my mind and body lashed back against the thought with sudden violence. I jerked away from her hard, like I'd been burned, the back of my head connecting painfully with the wall. My hastily yanked away arm pulled her hair a little, her gorgeous eyes flying open in shock. I watched in horror as she sat up, processing what had happened, her face crumpling with embarrassment, confusion, and I noticed with a pang, real hurt.

“Dipper! Oh, shoot, I-uh-I um--”

“I-I,- shit shit, Mabes, I--”

We both started stammering and sputtering at the same time, both shut up at the same time. I hoped my face wasn't as red as hers, but from the heat in my cheeks, I knew that it was. She had her hair pulled over her left shoulder and was anxiously tugging it and twisting it with both hands. Her eyes were cast down, as if her bedspread suddenly held great interest for her.

I dragged my hands down my face, “I'm sorry, Mabes. I don't know why... what the heck that was.”

The bed bounced a tiny bit from her vigorous head shake, “I dunno, s'okay.”

Seeing her all bent out of shape about this made my stomach turn over (though Mack Manuel may have had a hand in that as well). I couldn't stand being the reason she looked so embarrassed and unsure and I desperately groped for a solution, “Sh-should I go? D-do you wanna talk ab-about it? Wanna just forget it ever happened?”

She raised her gaze, darting back and forth between my eyes rapidly, searching, “D-do you wanna forget it?”

I didn't, but I had to. She obviously wanted to forget it and I wasn't going to make things weirder than they were already going to be this summer. So I nodded, decisively, and she nodded back, “Forget what?” I asked, a humorless attempt at humor.

Mabel stood up, leaving me sitting alone on her bed. She took two or three steps to the bottle on the ground and turned back to me, lifting the bottle, “To memory loss?” she toasted in a shaky voice before taking a swig.

“To memory loss,” I agreed, taking a matching swig before handing the bottle back to her.

I went over to my own bed, reluctant and eager at the same time, and looked back at her. She was on her hands and knees on the ground, looking for the bottle cap. At the sight of her cute little butt in her jean shorts, I remembered this morning. Slowly waking up, opening my eyes to see her stripping off her nightshirt, her milky back, the little orange panties the only stitch on her. I had gasped at the sight and closed my eyes, hoping against hope that she hadn't heard me. And yet, I couldn't resist peeking another glance through my eyelashes, seeing her squirm her way into those shorts, wiggling her hips to pull them up. _You are such a fucking pervert,_ I reminded myself, _You just tried to kiss your sad, drunk sister and now you're fondly remembering being a peeping tom this morning._

I flopped back on my bed, wishing for memory loss. Wishing I could actually forget all of this weirdo shit, wishing I could be the loyal, loving, trustworthy brother that Mabel thought I was. She deserved so much better.

 


	12. Surprise

_**Bill** _

This might come as a shock, but I don't like surprises. I know, I know, chaos is supposed to be my _thing_ , right? The truth is, chaos is fun when you're the one behind the wheel. It's only chaotic for everybody else who's along for the ride! Besides, I'm used to a certain degree of omniscience. Being tricked, realizing something's been right under my nose, it makes me _mad._

I considered blowing my cover. To be honest, if the rift hadn't been giving me so much trouble, I woulda done just that. But I had to keep up the act a little longer. I knew it would only make their blood taste all the sweeter when it was over.

What was I so mad about, you ask? What had come so outta the blue that it blindsided me? Well, well, well, I'll tell you.

Shooting Star and Pine Tree. _Shooting Star and Pine Tree._ _ **Shooting Star and Pine Tree.**_

Right off the bat, lemme say, it wasn't an incest thing. Okay? I could give a shit about them being related. After trillions of years making deals with all manner of being, spreading madness and destruction, you don't really worry about arbitrary human taboos. If anything, taboos are my style. I can respect a good taboo, particularly one that inspires hate and disgust and sometimes results in deformity. So just clearing that up, I didn't care that they were cosanguine.

There were two things about it that made me really mad. The first was that it came seemingly outta the blue and it surprised me. I knew the stupid twins were inseparable, but I had always chalked it up to human emotional codependency and little else. It pissed me off that it caught me off guard. The other thing, between you and me, the thing that bothered me a lot more, was that it was Shooting Star. And even though none of them knew it yet, Shooting Star belonged to me.

Oh, I had just been minding my own business in bed. Old Stan's body was tired and I was content that I had those dumb meatbags buying my tall tale about the Bermuda Triangle, when I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. And I don't mean it like you would, just wondering and thinking. No, I mean have a look around. And turns out there was a lot to see on that particular night. Normally, I'd get a laugh outta two idiots getting that freaked out by something they didn't even do, but this was different. How the hell did I miss this growing in both their minds? How did I not stop it? And it was Shooting Star, my favorite enigma, my puzzling Star. Pine Tree was an obstacle as it was, so suspicious by nature, so fiercely protective of his sister. But it had never occurred to me, even in all my wisdom, that he could be an adversary to me in this sense. I have never liked other people touching my things (how many lives had ended because someone laid a finger on my _goddamn_ hat?) and this was unforgivable, unthinkable. He dared _touch_ her? _I_ was the one who was going to own her, _I_ was the one who was going to untangle that fun snarl that was her consciousness! She was _mine_ to disassemble and reassemble, her organs and molecules and oxymoronic desires were _mine_ to unravel and rearrange. Her skin was mine to tear, to unwrap like a gift, uncovering whatever absolutely unique pulsating pure _thing_ thrived at her core. And that core, that infuriatingly pure thing was mine to darken, to debase, to sully. She was _mine_ to corrupt and while I wasn’t looking, Pine Tree had gotten to her _first_. The rage rose in me like a fiery storm and I spent the night burning and un-burning half the things in my room to try and quell my fury.

Which is why I was so tired the next day, the crankiness of sleep deprivation adding a ragged edge to my anger. I gave Pine Tree and Shooting Star a wide berth, not interested in watching sparks fly between them. I had deals to plan and a portal to complete. I entrusted the day’s tours to Question Mark, left the Gift Shop in the capable (if mortified) hands of the twins, and with some excuse about alone time, set to a day of working on the device.

“Curse this abysmal dimension!” I hissed when my calculations were wrong again. You wouldn't believe the complex conversions it takes to do the same thing between one dimension and another.

 _Hahaha, having some trouble?_ Sixer's amused condescension landed in my mind, _You don't look all powerful from where I'm sitting._

Good a place as any to direct my rage. With a snap of my fingers, the fluid of Sixer's snow-globe was heating up. “Well, well, well, well, well, look who finally found his spine.”

 _It's not a matter of courage,_ he replied, trying not to let me hear his panic about his simmering prison, _I just like watching you fail at this._ Fail? I wasn't failing! Suddenly, the water in his snow-globe prison was cooling rapidly, forming ice on the surface. The shock of the sudden change burst from his mind to mine and I couldn't help but smile. _Please, Bill, stop! I'll...I'll help you!_

I smiled. It was the first smile that had touched my lips since I tapped into Shooting Star's thoughts the night before. It started small, but it spread and it spread until it threatened to tear the corners of my mouth. I patted the snow-globe, as if I were patting the head of an obedient dog and said, “I knew you’d see reason!”

 


	13. Fallout

_**Mabel** _

_He hates me. He hates me._ _He hates me._ I guess it was a little melodramatic but that had been looping through my head for last couple days and it was driving me pretty bonkers. I'd thought crushing on the Dipstick was hard, I thought sharing a room would be hard, but _this. This_ was really absolutely positively really frick-frackin' hard. It had been a week since Mack Manuel threw a catastrophic party for two in the Shack attic and things had gone from bad to worse. Okay, was accidentally almost kissing awkward? Yeah. ( _No, actually, it was awesome. The only awkward thing was the fact that it stopped at almost._ ) But it was nothing compared to the fallout.

Sleeping in the same room that night had been shitty. The alcohol made it easy enough to fall asleep at first, but then I woke up in the teensy-weensy hours of the morning with a pounding headache and a heart full of achey-breaky bro-loving angst. I laid there in a half-sleeping stupor for hours, mulling over the weirdness of the evening. How good Dip looked drinking from the bottle, how sweet and nurturey he had been, how _he_ was the one that started leaning in with intent to smooch, staring into my eyes all hypnotized and whatnot. And the part I kept re-playing over and over in my head; the way he _stopped_. The way he leapt away, just about giving me whiplash, as if there was nothing in this world less appealing than a little drunken tonsil hockey with the twin. _Well, he's right! He has every right to not want to swap spit with his sister! That reaction is perfectly normal, you freaky-deaky dimwit!_

Eventually, I musta dozed off again because when the sun shone through the window, it stabbed me in the eyes and the temples and dragged me out of a mercifully blank sleep. I opened my eyes, saw Dipper's obnoxiously cute self snoozing a few feet away and practically felt my heart fall out my butt, dreading the day to come. I dragged myself to the bathroom for a shower, keeping the lights off, and spent the whole time trying to think about anything in the world only to have my mind keep twisting back around to Senor Dipper Pines.

That first day was very strained, but not _terrible._ Grunkle Stan wanted to be left alone, brooding in Grunkle Ford's old room all day and avoiding any kind of contact. Which left me with Dipper. To the bro-bro's credit, he was making a real effort to act normal. We talked in the Gift Shop, though it was weird stilted small talk which felt like it was following the world's dullest script. Nothing like how we normally talked. But the talking was better than the silences. Our silences are usually companionable, comfortable, and (thanks to moi) generally short-lived. But these silences were strained, feeling stretched and awkward. I kept feeling him staring at me, but when I tried to meet his gaze he'd make a point to get really focused on a lame-o fake task, like painstakingly straightening out the merchandise. He went to bed considerably before me and I got ready for bed in a dark, quiet room, knowing he was pretending to be asleep.

Yep, the first day was a dud, but it only got worse. _It'll get better, Mabel ol girl,_ I told myself, _It's Dippinsauce, your bro-bro, his funk won't last forever!_ But not only did his funk seem to last, it was getting funkier. Each day we spoke less until by the fourth day, he didn't say a word to me, only grunting or nodding in response to being addressed directly. Which hurt more than I ever imagined, if I'm being real. Our differences aside, the twin is the only person who had always made me feel special and loved, always listening and humoring my antics. Being snubbed by him for an entire day made me feel super-duper alone.

And eight days later, I was a wreck. The grunts and nods had given way to silent shrugs and complete avoidance. He would seek other chores around the Shack, help Soos with tours and fixing stuff, anything to give me and the Gift Shop a looooooot of space. When we were in the same room, he would keep his eyes off of me until he thought I wasn't looking, and would stare intently. Sometime around the sixth day, the _he hates me_ mantra started in my head and it had only gotten more insistent. I hadn't been getting much sleep the last few nights, lying in bed biting my nails, watching him sleep on the other side of the room, feeling like a puppy returned to the pound. _Guess I misunderstood what he meant by forgetting. I didn't think we were forgetting our whole poopin' relationship!_ His dumb boy face was so pretty and serene in the moonlight, and I hated that he wasn't losing sleep over our friendship ending.

I was closing up the Gift Shop on the eighth day when I heard it. Dipper was outside replacing and reinforcing the many pushy signs for the Mystery Shack. I was re-counting the cash in the register, trying not to think about my now-estranged brother, when I heard a yelp of pain. The sound cut through my fog of worries, straight to my core. Numbers, angst, and creepy crush forgotten, the sound of my bro in pain had me out of the stool and running for the yard faster than you could say _womb-friends._

I was at Dipper's side in a flash, my heart racing with concern. My mind catching up with my body's instinctive reaction, I took in the situation. I was standing about a foot from Dip. There was a hammer on the ground by his feet and he was clutching his left hand in his right, cursing quietly. _Oh, he just hammered his thumb, you dingbat_ , my mind was telling me, but the words were already burbling out of me, “Ohmygosh, Dippinsauce! Are you okay, broseph?”

When his eyes met mine, my stomach all but flopped into my mouth. _Is he afraid of me?_ There was a whole mess of emotions in his eyes. Pain, of course, surprise, relief, and something that looked suspiciously like fear. He wet his lips, and said in a flat voice, “Yeah, Mabel. I'm, uh, fine.”

Realtalk, I was surprised he had replied to me. And it's actually pretty pathetic how excited I was that he was making eye contact and speaking to me, even if he hadn't said anything I could sink my teeth into. _This is your chance!_ My mind shouted at me, _It's time you dumbos sorted this mess out._ “Oh. Uhh, that's um... good to hear, Dip.” it had never been this hard to talk to him before in my whole life, “So, uh... how are you?”

 _How are you?_ That was the kind of polite question that had never had any place between Mystery Twins One and Two. We had always just sorta _known_ how each other were doing, had always volunteered the information or asked each other point-blank, no etiquette between us. My question warranted a look of shock, an eyebrow raised at the unusually ordinary question. He cleared his features, “Um... I'm oo-kay. How 'bout you?”

 _This is your chance!_ I stood up straighter and put my hands on my hips and looked him dead in the eye, “As a matter of fact, Dip, I'm not doin' so hot.”

His adam's apple jumped, gulping nervously, “Oh...uh, really? W-what's up?”

“Well,” I carefully leveled my tone, “My best friend has been givin' me the coldest of shoulders.” I watched the blood drain from his face, his expression growing tense, “And it's making me feel kiiiinda like a piece of poopy garbage.”

My voice wavered on the last couple words, and under his pain, I felt a twinge of satisfaction at the brief flash of guilty concern on his face, “You're not a piece of poopy garbage, Mabes,” he said, voice softening a little, “I'm sure...your, uh, 'friend' is just, uh...wrapped up in their own personal junk.”

No way was he getting off that easy, “Pfffft, the heck with that! When personal junk needs sorting out, a _real_ friend talks it out instead of just running away and being a mean, avoid-y jerkface.”

Dunno if it was what I said or the way I said it, but that finally broke Dipper's resolve and his face crumbled. No longer guarded, his eyes became remorseful and he gave me the most sheepish of apologetic smiles, “Okay, Mabel, okay. Message received. I-I'm sorry I've been an avoid-y jerkface. I didn't mean to make you feel crappy, really. I just...” he looked down at the hammer, lying on the grass, “Had a lot to think about.”

I blew an impatient raspberry, “Yeah, no doyy, Dip. I was _there_. But I thought you wanted to forget about it and keep doing our whole best-friends-in-the-multiverse inseparable twin shtick like nothin' ever happened. Didn't think ya meant not really forgetting about it and just never ever talking to me again.” My voice broke about halfway through, growing thick with unshed tears by the end, eyes downcast.

Dipper muttered something unintelligible. I looked up at his face. His cheeks were pink, a look of earnest concern on his face. I blinked. He cleared his throat and forced himself to repeat what he had said, “I...I didn't _want_ to forget it at all, Mabes.”

 


	14. Talk-Walk

_**Dipper** _

Mabel blinked up at me, uncomprehending, “Wha..? You...didn't want to forget?” the blood was pounding hotter in my cheeks, my hand snaking around to nervously tug the hair at the nape of my neck. _Seriously, Dipper? Did you take some kind of laxative that brought on this verbal diarrhea? This is exactly what you have spent the last week avoiding saying!_ Mabel's voice interrupted the scolding I was giving myself, “Blaah... Dipdot, what?”

“I didn't want to forget about it. I-I _don't_ want to forget about it.” I said, watching the feelings warring on her upturned face, “I know nothing really...actually _happened_ , but even if it had...”

“Bro, I think we--”

“I totally get it if you hate me!” I interrupted, the voice in my head finally coming straight out of my mouth, “It's disgusting and weird and I--”

“Yo, Dipstick, cool your freakin' jets,” her hand on my shoulder steadied me, reeled me in a little, “I was just gonna suggest we go on a talk-walk.” I smiled down at her thankfully. Talk-walks were our reserved form of communication for any time we'd gotten into a bad fight. None had been as weird as this, of course, but there had been plenty over the years. Mostly they were petty, and ultimately boiled down to one of us being insecure. But by the end of a talk-walk, we were always best friends again.

I nodded maybe too enthusiastically, “I'd really like that.”

The way we fell into step with each other as we walked towards the treeline was the most natural thing in the world. We stepped along to the same internal beat, shared since the womb, and I already felt a little lighter. So when Mabel spoke her next words, I was pretty much light enough to float away, “I didn't want to forget it at all.”

“Really?” was all I could manage, giving her a sideways, slightly hopeful glance.

She was nervously playing with a loose string on a belt loop of her shorts, “Yepperoni, broski. I just figured you wanted to forget, what with the whole pushing me away from you when it happened. And being the one who suggested forgetting it...”

That hurt. It hurt because she was totally right, of course, I _had_ pushed her away from me, I _had_ suggested forgetting. I remembered the look on her face that night, thinking back on it a millionth time, and for the first time recognized the stinging rejection I had seen there, “I...it just kinda surprised me, y'know?” I said, “I didn't even realize I was doing it and then you- your lips were like _right there_ and... and Mabes... I didn't want to-to _fuck_ up and hurt you or freak you out or scare you and I didn't wanna make things weird between us.” _Nice job with that, Einstein,_ “But then I mean I guess I went and made it weird anyway because I was too tangled up in my head to like even _look_ at you, because if I did, I was pretty sure I was just gonna...kiss you.” Well, apparently my verbal diarrhea was a chronic case.

Mabel was quiet for a while, letting the voice in my head really start running his mouth. _You're an idiot, Dipper, you really did it now. She's so weirded out, oh fuck, she is so fucking weirded out, she's gonna_ _ **hate**_ _you and why shouldn't she? Her brother just said he wants to kiss her what the hell oh god oh god why did I say that!?_ The momentum of my anxiety was broken when I felt a small hand slip into mine. I whirled to look at her, our eyes fully meeting for the first time since we started talk-walking. There were tears in her galaxy eyes but her face was lit with a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were pink and damp and without thinking, I leaned down and gave her a peck on each, the tears salty on my lips, “Dipper,” she said, a teasing hint in her voice, “Do you ever stop worrying?”

I sighed and couldn't help but chuckle, “No. Literally, not ever. At any given time, I am worrying.”

“That must be cray-zay exhausting, brother mine,” she said tenderly, her hand rising to cup my cheek. I leaned into the touch, hearing a happy hum rise from my own chest. Her voice got softer, “What are you worrying about right now?”

“That you're going to hate me,” I admitted, almost surprised by how fearful my own voice was, on the verge of breaking, “That I'm completely crossing a line and that I'm going to alienate you. Or...or even if you did want... _this_ , whatever _this_ is...that it's going to hurt you. Deprive you of something or hurt you and it'll be my fault and I don't want--”

“Whoa, whoa, Dip, one thing at a time.” Her other hand brushed my cheek, her hands warm on either side of my face. Her gleaming eyes bore into mine, and my heart was racing, “First off, I could never hate you. I _will_ never hate you. I meant it about you being my number one fave, so don't worry about that. You're not getting rid of me that easy!” Despite myself, I was smiling, “And as for weirding me out? Uhhhhmm I thought it was well established that _I'm_ the weird twin? Maybe this stuff is crossing a line, probably, but...I don't feel that way.” Her smile got a little more shy, and _oh god how is she so cute? How is this girl so amazing? Who wouldn't be in love with her?_ And she said, her tone a little tentative, “As for wanting it... I want it. I've _been_ wanting it. I've been wanting... well, _you_.”

“Mabes...” I stroked a strand of downy curly hair away from her face, my fingers gliding down from her temple to her chin, “Are you serious? I thought... it's been driving me nuts, at school and stuff, but I was so worried--”

“No! Really? You, worried? I don't believe it!” I laughed, taking her sarcasm as a sign that she wasn't too freaked out.

“Ha ha, very funny.” I said, smirk threatening the corners of my mouth, “But really, you...?”

“Yeah, bro, I.” she replied, getting on her tiptoes and placing her lips on mine ever so gently. When our lips met, the squabbling, worrying, angry internal monologue I had been listening to my whole life shut up for the first time. There was only peace and quiet and the feel of her unbelievably soft lips. After only an instant, I returned the kiss I'd been obsessing over for what seemed like forever. My hand moved to the back of her neck, feeling the soft curls there, slightly damp from sweat, while my other hand found hers again. Her fingers spread and twined between mine and I squeezed. I opened my lips against hers slightly and tasted her lip balm, and suddenly artificial strawberry was my favorite flavor in the world. When she felt my lips open, she responded eagerly, her own lips opening and closing ever so gently, suckling. Wanting more of that sweet taste, my tongue grew bolder, darting cautiously against her lips, eliciting a happy moan from her which surprised us both.

We split apart laughing, both standing up straighter. I wondered if she felt ten pounds lighter, too. Her eyes were still closed, giggling bashfully. I was pretty sure it was the cutest thing I had ever seen. Her eyelashes fluttered open and she looked up at me. Putting one hand to her hip she asked, “So, does _that_ answer your question?”

I shook my head, “I dunno...I think I could use a more thorough explanation.”

Her blush deepened and she punched my shoulder lightly, “Slow down, hot stuff, you're getting suave a little prematurely here.” My face must have shown my genuine embarrassment, because a second later, Mabel threw herself against me in a hug. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her close. Somehow this hug was different. Different from the one we shared in the Gift Shop the day after arriving, different from the countless hugs we'd shared in the last seventeen years of being best friends. Her face was tucked against my neck, her breath damp and warm, the tip of her nose and her lips leaving featherlight touches on my skin, sending shivers down my spine. Her hands flexed against my shoulders. My own hands were dancing up and down her back, remembering how pale and smooth the skin had looked a few mornings ago. She smelled so incredible, felt so incredible. I pulled her tighter into the embrace.

“I'm sorry I was lame, Mabes,” I murmured into the top of her head, “I was afraid.”

“Oh bro-bro,” she sighed, reaching up one hand to caress my cheek, “There's nothing to be afraid of when you've got the one and only Mabel in your corner.” I couldn't help but grin, knowing she was right. With her on my side, I felt truly invincible.

 


	15. A Helping Hand

_**Bill** _

Pine Tree was sitting on the back steps, staring at the fireflies. I had been watching his thoughts, mulling over the sight of Shooting Star's smiling, freshly-kissed face just inches from his. They had kissed for the first time the day before and had been flitting around each other, coyly and giddily sneaking kisses and brushing hands. His glaringly bright hope was exhausting to experience, even secondhand. I flared with jealousy at his memory of the feel of her waist in his hand, the soft pliant flesh warm right beneath the fabric of her shirt. I couldn’t help but think how fragile that flesh was, how little it would take to split the skin and uncover the organized chaos of her innards. It would be such a pleasure to heal and destroy that tender tissue repeatedly, the tendrils of my mind uncovering her secrets in the undulating waves of her pain and fear. I had been toying with some plans, ploys to get between them, ways to make Shooting Star _truly mine_. As Pine Tree's happy thoughts gave way to some apprehension about trying to keep their secret, I knew my time had come.

I let the screen door bang shut behind me, and saw him jump at the sound. He glanced over at me, but didn't give me a proper greeting, so wrapped up was he in his thoughts. I heavily plopped down beside him, Stan's creaking old back angry at the lack of support, “Hey, kid, you look like you got a lot on your mind.”

A crooked smile broke out on his face, “You have _no idea_ , Grunkle Stan.”

“Well, uh, y'know if something’s freaking you out or whatever, that makes it my problem, too,” His smile broadened, surprised by my show of sensitivity. It was always so damn easy to fool these idiots into believing whatever I wanted, “Like, you're family. What's yours is mine, if y'know what I'm tryin' to say.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan,” Pine Tree nodded, with a good-natured chuckle, “I think I do. And same to you.” His eyebrows rose a little in earnest sympathy, “You know you're like a second dad to me and Mabes, so you don't need to, uh, carry on like you're alone.”

I smiled at him, and clapped him on the shoulder. A silence fell between us, as we both looked out at the dark field, the swaying evergreens, edged in the muted moonlight. _Okay, now to set the trap..._ I cleared my throat, as if nervous and said quietly but confidently, “I know what's going on, Dipper.”

He noticeably stiffened beside me, but forced a laugh, “Whatcha talking about, Grunkle Stan?”

“Dipper,” our eyes locked, “ _I know what's going on._ ”

“N-nothing's going on--” he tried.

“It's not that easy to fool a con-man, kid,” I interrupted, firmly. That part I _really_ did mean, “I know about you and your sister.”

Even in the dim light, I could see the blood drain from his face. Internally, I was smiling. Making mortals squirm can be so fun. His words spilled out of him in a torrent, stammering, his voice cracking like it used to when he was younger, “H-how? How d'you know? G-Grunkle Stan, please _please_ don't tell anyone! M-Mabel... We... Stan, just lemme explain--”

“No.” I cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him, “No, Dipper. No excuses. There's no explanation that's gonna change my mind.” He was fidgeting uncomfortably under my gaze, biting his lips, forcing himself to let me finish talking, “You know I...I love both you kids and I don't wanna hurt you or get you into trouble. I'm glad I taught you to ignore rules, but those weren't the kinda rules I meant for you to break. I mean, kid, it's messed up. You gotta know that, right?”

“Of course I know, Stan,” he said, his voice a bit sharp with indignation. _Good, get flustered. Leave your better judgment at the door, smart guy_ , “I mean, everybody _knows_ it's wrong. In... in...”

“Incest.” I finished the word for him, delighted by the way he cringed at hearing it, “It's not natural.”

“I know...” Pine Tree said, nodding weakly, looking down at his sneakers, “We... we _tried_ to ignore it. Tried not to do it...but...”

“Well, swapping spit isn't gonna make it go away, that's for sure,” I interjected.

He shot me a glare, his anger rising again, “Don't you think I _tried_ not to want this? Don't you think I _tried_ not to kiss her? Not to _want_ her?” He lifted his hat, ran a hand through his hair impatiently, replaced the hat, “But all that trying...it-it just came between us. And getting isolated, pushing each other away... it...”

“Hey, I'm a twin, too, remember?” I said, delving into the backstory I had adopted as my own, making my voice a little bitter, “Twins ain't used to goin' it alone. You're used to always being... a team.” I swallowed, as if gulping back tears, “ _Trust_ me, Dipper, I know what that's like. Learning how to... how to handle shit, handle _life_ suddenly without your other half.”

“Grunkle Stan...” Pine Tree said, his tone compassionate. He felt guilty for fighting with me, put a cautious, consoling hand on my shoulder.

“No, no,” I said, shrugging off his touch, _Yes, yes, now that he's feeling guilty, sympathetic, now's the time to move in for the kill,_ “This...isn't about me. This is about you, and it's mostly about Mabel. I love that crazy kid and I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her. Especially you.” He opened his mouth to protest, “No, Dipper, I know you don't _wanna_ hurt her. You'd never wanna hurt her. But this thing you're doing? _This_ is gonna hurt her. What happens when your parents find out? What happens in public? None of that normal romance junk, no hand-holding, no nothin'. You know she's a sucker for that shit, she's talked of pretty much nothing else since she was twelve. And later, if she wants to start a family?” With my every word, his face grew paler, his lips a tight thin line as if biting back nausea, “Mabel deserves a normal life.”

“No, normal's not good enough!” he disagreed, his voice thickened with emotion, eyes wet, “She deserves the _world_ , the whole _universe!_ She deserves more than anyone could ever give her!” _That's what you think, sonny, I’ll make sure the whole universe bows to her._

“I agree with you, Dipper,” I said, gently, “But she can't have any of that with her brother.”

The tears in his eyes overflowed and his shoulders heaved with sobs, “You're right...I know you're right...” he blubbered, his resolve finally shattering, “But I can't just _leave_ her! I-I-I can't even stop _thinking_ about her!”

 _Comin' up on the moment of truth,_ “Tell ya what,” I said, rubbing circles on his back, “I'll help you. We'll do it together.”

“I dunno, Stan,” he muttered, shaking his head a little, “This...this is _my_ problem.”

“Dipper, kiddo,” I said, and gestured to myself, “Let me make _your_ problems, _my_ problems.”

He sighed heavily and for a moment said nothing. Then he wiped his nose on his sleeve, “Okay, Grunkle Stan,” he said, relenting, “Like ya said before, I guess. What's mine is yours.”

 _Yeesh, thought it would be harder to get that one outta him!_ “That's right. What's yours is mine,” I said, pulling myself to my feet with considerable effort. As I stretched the kinks out of my back, I added, making sure my tone was a bit lighter, “I don't need to tell you, discretion is key. You can't run and tell Mabel about this.”

Pine Tree nodded along, “Of course, Grunkle Stan. I...I won't tell Mabel.” As he said it, I offered him my hand. As if to help him stand. I made sure to make the gesture as casual as possible. _There it is, Pine Tree, just take it. Take my hand._ _ **Take my hand.**_

He gave me a watery smile as he clapped his trusting hand into mine, “It's a deal then.” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. As the words registered in his mind, a look of suspicion darkened his features. By the time blue flames shot up around our hands an instant later, it was already too late.

 


	16. Bodies Change

****_**Dipper** _

It was a sensation I'd only experienced once before in my life, but I would've known that feeling anywhere. It's a feeling you don't soon forget. Over the years, I had had bouts of nightmares full of a smooth-talking triangle, always culminating in taking his hand and waking with a start as my soul was pulled from my body in the dream. The feeling was kinda like the moment when you drive over a bump in the road too fast and for a second your butt leaves the seat and your stomach seems to float and your hearts skips. Or when you trip over something and everything kinda goes into slow motion in the instant that you feel gravity tugging at you, and you have just enough time to be scared before you hit the floor. I guess it felt a little like being weightless, a little like falling, very much like being loosed from your mooring, unsecured. This time, unlike the first time when I was twelve, it only lasted a moment before I felt myself anchored again, looking down at my own tear-stained face giving me a deranged grin, like looking in some kind of distorted funhouse mirror. _This can't be happening,_ I thought, seeing the last wisps of blue flame flickering out around our clasped hands and he pulled his hand--my hand?--away.

“Oh, but it _is_ happening, Pine Tree.” That _voice_. A shiver ran through me, as though icy water had been poured over my head. There was absolutely _no_ mistaking the voice that had come out of _my_ face. Disoriented, I looked in every direction around me, frantically seeking some other explanation. The world looked the same, the summer night as serene as it had been a moment before, only I was standing where Grunkle Stan had been standing, right next to, well, myself. I looked down at my chest and felt the pit in the bottom of my stomach gaping wider. There was no mistaking the seventy-something-year-old body I was in, the white chest hair just peeking out from the tank top, the paunchy belly stretching the fabric. A quiet but acerbic laugh sliced through my mounting panic, and I yanked my hand out of his and met my own eyes. They looked...wrong. There was a manic gleam in them which sure as hell wasn't normally there. _This is impossible. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. How how_ _ **how**_ _? He's_ _ **gone.**_ That laugh again, “Newsflash, Pine Tree! Turns out I'm not gone!”

“H-how is--” I stopped talking at the sound of my voice. It wasn't really Grunkle Stan's voice... but it wasn't my voice either. Maybe it was what my voice would sound like after thirty-odd years of yelling at tourists. I swallowed thickly, hoping that would help and spoke again, “How is this possible? How are you...you?”

That laugh, that _goddamn_ laugh, “Well, that skin-puppet you're currently getting chummy with has served me pretty well for the last five years.” He had my mouth twisted in such a disturbing grin, “That answer your question, Pine Tree?” My mind was racing to put it together. _Five years? He's been possessing Grunkle Stan for five years? Since...since Weirdmageddon? That's not possible! When we wiped Stan's mind it destroyed-_ I could feel my eyes widen as it clicked- _Oh god, oh god, oh god, no._ The laugh again, “Theeeeere ya go, kid. Really pulled one over on you, heh? Talk about a long con! Hahaha!”

My lips drew back from my teeth in a snarl, everything about it feeling not-right, like wearing borrowed shoes that have already been broken in for the shape of someone else's feet, “You... it's been _you_ this whole time?! Bill _fucking_ Cipher?” It chilled me to actually call him by his name.

He nodded at me happily, “The very same!”

“What did you do with Grunkle Stan?!” I growled, “If you've hurt him, I swear I will fucking kill--”

“Aww, how _cute!_ ” he interrupted, his smile menacing, “Your dear uncle Six-fingers said the same thing before I dealt with him.”

All my words caught it my throat, my thoughts slamming against a brick wall. _He...killed Ford? Oh shit, of_ _ **course**_ _he did! If Grunkle Stan has actually been Bill...then everything...everything was a lie._ _ **Of course**_ _, Ford didn’t just die by some_ _ **accident!**_ _I knew that wasn’t possible! Oh god, oh GOD, so much of these last five years has been an act. Oh god, how did I not see this? How did I not notice anything was wrong? Oh god, Mabel and I have had Bill fucking Cipher as our guardian for the last five—_ my blood ran cold— _ **Mabel!**_ _Mabel isn't safe, I need to help her, I need to save her, I need to tell her--_ As that thought escalated, I felt my tongue stick to the bottom of my mouth and Bill just held that shit-eating grin on my own face and shook his head jauntily, “Oh, no,” he said, “You won't be telling Shooting Star _any_ of this. Discretion was part of the deal, remember?” _The deal-_ _ **the deal**_ _\- oh god, what did I agree to again?_ My racing thoughts tried to backtrack, tried to summon the exact words I had exchanged with Grunkle Sta- _with Bill_. I grasped at the memory of what had transpired only moments ago, _Make your problems, my problems... what's yours is mine... can't run and tell Mabel about this... Oh god, Mabel...Mabel...Mabel..._ Bill's laugh cut through my thoughts again. He was clearly entertained by the explosive happenings in my mind, “Not to worry, Pine Tree,” he assured me, in a voice that was anything but comforting, “Shooting Star is in very good hands.”

He held out my hands towards me, presenting the palms I knew so well. I stared at his hands, remembered how soft and warm Mabel's waist had felt against them only hours ago, about lacing those fingers with hers, about stroking her delicate curly hair the night we got drank Mack Manuel’s on her bed. In my mind, I suddenly could vividly see her as I last had about an hour ago, curled up on her bed in the attic with a summer reading book, saying something about getting it out of the way until I came upstairs. I felt like a hammer hit me in the forehead. She was up there now, barefoot, twisting around her finger or chewing a lock of brown hair, glancing away from her book every few minutes to check the time, wondering why I hadn't walked through the door yet. I thought of her sweet strawberry lip balm against my lips as we closed up the Gift Shop, her hushed flirty promise of 'goodnight kisses like I'd never dreamed of.' And now...now Bill, _Bill fucking Cipher_ , was wearing my face. The face Mabel was waiting to kiss goodnight. I wobbled and my legs gave out under me.

Bill--no, _Bipper-_ -just kept on smiling that Cheshire Cat smile at me, relishing my realization, “See, Pine Tree? My word is good. Kissing Shooting Star isn't your problem anymore,” my own brown eyes glinted at me, “It's my problem now.”

“M-Mabel...” I stammered, “Was this...about Mabel...?”

He shrugged my shoulders, “She's part of it. It was ‘bout time I got a better vessel anyway, that one's pretty rough around the edges. But this one?” He looked down at my hijacked body approvingly, stretching and flexing my arms, “You've come a long way in the last five years, noodle arms.”

As he spoke, I became more aware of the shortcomings of this body. Unfamiliar aches and pains seemed to be everywhere, in my back, in my fingers, in my chest. Everything felt distended, too dry or too greasy, too frail or too bulky. I was still kneeling on the back porch where I had fallen and there was a sharp pain in my knees where they had collided with the wood. There was nothing I wanted more than to barrel up the stairs and warn Mabel, but only thinking of it made my tongue stick down in my mouth again, bound by the deal I'd blundered into. When my tongue could move, I could only force out a weak plea, “Bill...please...”

He rolled his new eyes and ruffled my grey hair condescendingly as he walked past me to the door, “Enough chitchat for tonight, Pine Tree. Thanks again for the puppet.” he shot me a sharp smile, and my hair stood on end when he spoke again and I heard a startlingly accurate imitation of my own voice, “I hear there are some, uh, goodnight kisses w-waiting for me in the attic.”

I watched the screen door swing shut behind my own back, heard his feet bounding up the bottom few steps, and dropped my head into my hands. _How could I have been so stupid?_

 


	17. Good Night

_**Mabel** _

_What the heckity-hoo is taking you so darn long, bro-bro?!_ I thought impatiently, my eyes flicking over to the clock yet again. This stupid summer reading book was so dry and stuffy, and it had gotten harder and harder to focus on the later it got. It was just supposed to pass the time! I thought he'd be tripping over himself trying to get up here for some smooches as fast as he could! I read the same paragraph again, without absorbing any information. _Is he having misgivings? Is he mad at me? Is he teasing me by staying away?_ I yawned. Whatever was keeping him downstairs, Dip was gonna miss out on my offer if he took much longer because I was getting pretty tired.

With a huff, I dropped the book on my bed, not bothering with a bookmark. I knew I'd have to re-read most of what I'd been over tonight anyway, since my mind had been so preoccupied. I swung my legs off the bed and padded over to the dresser, tugging out a big soft tee shirt and a pair of fuzzy pajama shorts. I changed out of the pink tank top I'd been wearing all day, and was wiggling my way out of my shorts when I heard footsteps flying up the stairs and the door swung open. A little embarrassed about my pantie-clad caboose, I pulled on my pajama shorts impatiently, casting a look at Dipper over my shoulder. He was standing in the doorway, leaning his weight on the doorknob still in his hand, the hint of a grin on his face. I wanted to scold him for keeping me waiting, but found myself smiling back at him. In mock annoyance, I said, “Well, gee whiz, Dip, thanks for knocking.”

He gave a strange chuckle that confused the butterflies in my stomach, “Sheesh, it's my room too, sister.” His tone was a little weird, the cadence awkward, not his usual sarcastic lilt. _Probably just outta breath from taking the stairs three at a time,_ I figured a little smugly, _maybe a little surprised to have been greeted by sister booty._

“Fair point,” I shrugged, my flirtation game thrown off a little by his weird tone. My eyes met his and I felt an electric current go through me. Whoa. Not the normal _zing_ I had been getting for months now from any casual look or touch from the broski. This was different. There was an unfamiliar look in his eye, which was pretty much a first. When you spend as much time together as the Mystery Twins do, you kinda know all of each other's looks by heart. His gaze held mine as he closed the attic door behind him and strode over to me. My heart was pounding out of my chest when he halted only about half a foot in front of me.

 _What the heck does that look mean?_ I tried to cross-reference with his other facial expressions in my internal Dipdot-Face-Database. It was a little like his curious, intent look when he was on the brink of solving an equation or connecting the missing link of some mystery or other. But not quite that. It was a little like the innocent glee that filled his eyes when something unexpectedly good came his way, a Sibling Brothers book that he had somehow missed or a random BABBA song on the radio. But, no... it wasn't really _that_ either. His hand rose up and slid along the side of my waist, pulling me closer by a couple more inches and that look in his eyes seemed to flash brighter. It was a little like...hunger? A little like the look he'd get when we were out somewhere to eat and he saw our waiter approaching with our food. Kinda eager and... want-y. I could feel myself blushing, _Oh, is Dip hungry... for me?_ My eyes danced back and forth between his, _Yeah, it could be that. Though that isn't how he's looked at me when he wanted to kiss me before--_

My pondering was interrupted by his lips suddenly crashing against mine. I forgot to close my eyes for the first couple seconds, staring back into his in surprise. _Why are his eyes open, too?_ But then the kiss overtook my mind. _Whoa. This is_ _ **definitely**_ _different!_ Though they was still hella new to me, I was already becoming accustomed to kisses from the Dipster. They were sweet and soft and eager, his lips moving wetly and gently against my own. His kisses were enthusiastic, but somehow tentative, too. There was something incredibly loving and doting about the way he slowly would open and close his lips against mine, sucking and caressing and very gradually building up to fluttering little swipes of the tip of his tongue, playfully and tenderly teasing along my lips before diving in and flicking and twisting along mine in that way that turned my knees into jelly and made me surprise myself with little mewls of pleasure.

But this kiss was _nothing_ like all the others! His lips were moving against mine harder and more insistently than they ever had. His tongue darted into my mouth almost immediately, sweeping around mine in a confident, needy way that was completely new. Dipper's hands squeezed against my waist and I could make out the slight prick of his fingernails through my shirt. _Wow, he reeeeally wants me,_ I thought, taken aback. Then I felt his teeth tug my bottom lip and I completely melted into mush in his arms, pressing myself into his chest, feeling his groan of satisfaction vibrate into my mouth. The kiss somehow seemed to last forever and at the same time, be over much too soon. When our lips broke apart, I was feeling all kinds of tingly, from my red cheeks, to the butterfly mosh pit in my tummy, not to mention the tingle fiesta going on south of the border. I blinked a few times, my vision a little hazy, to be met by Dipper's face floating only inches from mine. His lips were a little pink from kissing, bent in that trademark crooked grin which woulda made my mind go gooey if it wasn't already. And his eyes, those wide suede-brown eyes, projected none of their usual earnest even-tempered goodness, but seemed to be burning, glowering with that look that had stumped me before. After that kiss, however, it was easy enough to identify. I was seeing pure, possessive lust in my brother's eyes for the first time.

“W-wow-ee, bro,” I stammered, my voice a little breathier than normal, “Where the heck did you learn to kiss like _that_?”

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice confident and a little husky, his right hand slithering up my side and into my hair at the base of my skull.

“Mmm,” I hummed at the contact, “Oho yeah. I _deeeefinitely_ like it.”

His grin pursed into a cocky smirk I didn't often see, “Heh. I thought as much.”

I giggled, _he is acting so strange!_ And pulled out of his embrace, gave his nose a little flick, “Sheesh bro, drop the smooth-talking ladykiller act already!”

I thought I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes, but it was gone before I could be sure it had been there at all. His hand grabbed the nape of my neck in a kinda forceful way that for some reason was really sexy, “Oh? You don't like it?” he asked with one eyebrow raised, tugging the fine hair just a teensy bit, eliciting a tiny gasp, “It doesn't turn you on?”

I laughed nervously, and poked his cheek, “Jeepers, Dip! Who are you and what did you do with my total dweeb of a brother?”

Dipper loosened his hold on my neck, his cocky smirk giving way to something a bit more like his normal smile, a little embarrassed. He chuckled, sounding more like himself this time, “S-sorry, Mabes,” he said, his hand stroking its way gently through my hair, “I didn't mean to weird you out or anything...”

I planted a small peck on the corner of his mouth, “P'shaw, Dipstick, ya didn't weird me out.” I gave him a mischievous smile, “I just didn't get the memo about how you become a silver-tongued casanova when you're horny.”

He blushed and scratched his ear, “Heheh, sorry, guess I shoulda done a memo?”

“Oh shush,” I wrapped my arms around his middle, “I like surprises, remember?”

He hugged me back tightly, and murmured into my hair, “I can work with that.”

 


	18. Winning

_**Bill** _

I've always liked winning. Don't get wrong, a good challenge is a fun time but who doesn't love the moment you start _really_ winning? Your plan is really coming together. Your goal is within reach. Your adversary's hands are tied or better yet, have been severed from their arms and fed to their loved ones, and you get that _feeling_. You know the one. That buoyant little spark because everything's goin' your way.

So, yeah, I was in a pretty good mood. And why not? I'd had this new body for five days and _whoo-wee_ what an improvement! Maybe non-corporeal beings like myself shouldn't be picky with our vessels, but I mean, this one really left old Stanley in the dust! First of all, everything was in working order. Stanley hadn't exactly been in mint condition after seventy-odd planetary revolutions and I'd grown accustomed to all the frailties, aches, and botherances I'd inherited. But Pine Tree? Sheesh, this body was in its _prime!_ Since the last time I'd inhabited this puppet, boy, had it grown! Taller, faster, stronger. The puny, sweaty kid had evolved into a not-too-puny but still pretty sweaty man! Pine Tree was never gonna be a hulking mound of muscle, but his arms and legs, nearly useless noodles before, had acquired wiry sinewy strength. That stuff is delicious and I would've gladly eaten him if I didn't need him for other things. Oh and did I mention durable? Boy, this thing could take a beating! I'd found that hurting this body was a great way to keep Pine Tree in line! When he'd approached me, tried to talk about the deal, it only took me tearing off two toenails for him to back down! His tolerance of seeing this body harmed was so low, it was hilarious! It was as if he was protecting _me_! Imagine the look on his Stanley face. Oh, priceless!

But there were other advantages to inhabiting Pine Tree's body besides the body itself. I didn't have to pretend to be Stanley, which was a relief. No more mystery tours, no more days watching that imbecile television, no more dentures. It was so _easy_ to pass as Pine Tree. Unlike Stanley, Pine Tree was a nervous talker, so anytime I wasn't sure how or what to say, I could just stammer my way out of it! It was easy to just rely on his vocal chords, let his body do the talking! Literally! And I didn't have to keep track of any distinctive turns of phrase (his damn Grunkle had countless) because Pine Tree was a pretty straightforward talker, for the most part, besides humoring Shooting Star's banter.

Speaking of which, _that_ was the sweetest bonus of having this new body. Shooting Star was mine. Everyone, including her, assumed that we would spend all of our time together and I wasn't about to rock the boat! Finally I could study her more closely without arousing any suspicions! And we shared a room! This body didn't beg for sleep nightly as insistently as my old one had and I spent a good portion of the first couple nights watching Shooting Star sleep, letting happy bombs of victory detonate in my mind. Though that wasn't until after she had grudgingly moved from my bed to hers, reluctantly ending our nightly face-mashing. And _boy oh boy_ does this body like kissing Shooting Star! **Just like with my previous vessel, it was** hard to say how much was Pine Tree's body's desire to boink his sister to the moon and back, and how much of it is my own desire to claim her, but I can see why licking each other's tongues is a thing humans are so into. **I** was surprised to enjoy the taste of her mouth as much as I’d always imagined I’d like the taste of her blood. She tasted as she was, overwhelmingly sweet, like she was made of sugar, but with an aftertaste that tickled the palate like white pepper or mint. As nice as our nightly fluid-swapping was, concealed by our closed door and unrestrained, the thrill of our daytime games was even better. Part of that was the challenge, the objective of seeing how much we could get away with without getting caught. I have always had a taste for secrets. But getting caught was even better.

I always made sure it was something small, not too incriminating. And if I could help it, at a moment where she wouldn't even notice we'd been seen. And I _always_ made sure that our dear Grunkle Stan was in the front row. Like making sure my hand was on her bare thigh when Pine Tree had to duck under the table to retrieve a fork. The sound of his skull hitting the bottom of the table, the poorly-masked hatred in his scowl. Marvelous. Or when my hand would stray down her back during a hug in the Gift Shop, making eye contact with him over her shoulder, with my nose buried in her hair. I relished the sound of the Mystery Shack snow-globe in his hand breaking when my hand reached her ass, the yelp of pain as shards of glass sliced his hand.

Oh, yeah, I was having fun. But, as the humans say, it wasn't all fun and games. There was work to be done. Every chance I got, I'd slip away to Sixer's old room and get some work done on the portal. Once he'd started helping me, it started going a lot faster. The scope of my knowledge was too great, and that made it hard to narrow it down to just which 'laws' applied in this dimension. Sixer's limited but brilliant perspective was just the catalyst I needed to get this show on the road. And hurting Pine Tree's body was an effective way of keeping him in his place, too. The first day I strolled in there in his nephew's body and started talking to him, the rage that struck me from his mind was staggering. He was so horrified, so disgusted, so enraged to see me trick his dear protege just as I had once tricked him, his fists beating on the walls of his prison for the first time in ages. Funny as it was, I had come in there to do some work and was glad that taking a pocket-knife to Pine-Tree's left hand was enough to scare his uncle back into submission. Just the sight of the rich young blood swelling up from the back of the hand under the blade tip was enough to make me giddy and him silent. When I dragged the blade to the knuckle where the index finger adjoined the hand and brought the knife parallel to the ground, Sixer's silence broke as he let fly pleas for me to 'not hurt Dipper, please, please, haven't you taken enough from me? Please, Bill, oh god, not Dipper too, you monster, not Dipper too'.

I hadn't heard a complaint from him since.

It was late afternoon and the portal was nearly complete. Old Fordsy and I were in a companionable enough silence (on my end, that is) while I input some of his new re-calibrations. I was honestly surprised how far off some of my own deductions had been. I was clicking one of the last panels into place when I heard her singsong voice, “Diiiiipperr! Where ya hidin', bro-bro?” I shot Sixer a smile as I leapt away from the portal and approached the door. But Shooting Star got there before I did, and we bumped into each other.

“Oh! Uh, hiya, Mabel,” I squeaked.

“Hiya yourself, bro,” she giggled with a bop to my nose, “Whatcha doin' in _here_?”

“Oh, nothing,” I tried, but she was already squeezing past me through the doorframe, face illuminated with wonder.

“What in the hoot is _that_?” she asked, pointing to the opposite side of the room, which was swallowed up by wires and the awkward mass of the portal itself.

“I-I'm not sure, but I have a theory.” I replied in Pine Tree's curious academic voice, narrowing my eyes in that characteristic way of his. After a pause Shooting Star looked back at me, rolling her hand as if to say 'go on'. I did, “I think Grunkle Stan has been building it. Some kinda portal or time travel device or _something._ To...to save Great Uncle Ford.”

Shooting Star's eyes widened, her eyebrows lifting in sympathy and surprise. She turned away from me and walked across the blue carpet, closer to my work site, “Grunkle Stan...” she sighed, as her fingers danced across the desk that held all my calculations, most of them crossed out and replaced by Sixer's, “All that time he's been spending here with the door shut...I assumed he was just crying and having mopey grief time, y'know.”

“Yeah,” I said, a little shakily, anxiously watching her hand on my desk, “M-Mabes, it could be dangerous. Don't mess with it.”

Her hand landed on the snow-globe and she paused, “Huh,” she said, “This thing feels funny.” I was surprised she could pick up on the magical re-enforcements considering how easy it had been to make her think I was her beloved brother. She never stopped confusing me, “It's like...tingly.” I crossed the small distance between us swiftly, as she lifted the snow-globe to her face. Before it reached her eye level, I was right behind her, my hand on the globe, making her uncle invisible before she could see him. She looked up at me, surprised, “Wha...?” Her brows furrowed, “It's making noise!” she brought it to her ear, dragging me closer too. Our noses were touching. I could hear Sixer's cries loud and clear in my head, _Mabel! Mabel! It's Ford, I'm alive! Don't trust Dipper! Don't trust Dipper! He's Bill! He's Bill Cipher! He's Bill! Don’t trust him!_ But I could tell from the cloudy look on her face that she could only pick up on a distant tiny frequency.

I placed a small kiss on her lips and her eyes darted away from the snow-globe to my eyes. (In my head, Sixer's voice was screaming _What the hell are you doing, she's his_ _ **sister**_ _, Bill!_ ) I shrugged, “I'm sure it's nothing, Mabes,” I said, calmly taking the snow-globe from her hand and putting it back on the table.

She shrugged back at me, “Yeah, you're right.” she placed a small peck on my nose, “We're gonna have to ask Grunkle Stan about this stuff...” Shooting Star said weakly, gesturing around at the room, “Whatever he's trying, he shouldn't be keeping us in the dark about it.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking her hand and turning our backs to the portal, “We don't want a repeat of Weirdmageddon or something.”

She shuddered and squeezed my hand, “Y'don't think that's gonna happen, right, Dip?”

“Course not,” I said, with a reassuring kiss to her temple, “Bill's long gone.”

 


	19. Disassociation

_**Dipper** _

“You did great today, Mr. Pines!” Soos was saying, adoringly, as we neared the door to the Gift Shop, “You're like a cash magnet!”

“You did a great job, too, Soos,” I said, without thinking. The large man stopped dead in his tracks next to me. I looked over at him, seeing tears twinkling in the eyes that rested under a fez identical to my own. I cleared my throat, “I-I mean, maybe you'll be great at this someday, too.” Soos smiled, _dammit, still too encouraging_ , “I mean, ehh, if I'm a cash magnet it's only because those idiots are...made of metal?” The sentimental look dropped from Soos' face and we started walking again. Apparently I had finally landed on a statement both rude enough and meaningless enough to sound like Stan. Being a jerk to Soos was one of the harder day-to-day parts of my new...situation. I'd considered Soos a beloved friend and equal for years and talking down to him just felt _wrong_. And trying to talk like Grunkle Stan was a lot harder now that I was aware of the fact that I hadn't spoken to him since Weirdmageddon, that every conversation I could draw from since then I'd been talking to... _him._

I opened the door to the Gift Shop and instantly wished I hadn't. That's an understatement. I actually wished that the earth beneath my feet would open up, a fault line cracking open, and swallow me whole, dragging me into a comforting abyss where I would never have to see anything like the scene in front of me again. If being a dick to Soos was hard, _this_ was definitely the hardest. Knowing that around any corner, behind any seemingly innocuous door, I was gonna find them. See hands on my sister's waist, in her beautiful hair, on her slim back. Hands I'd looked down at every day for seventeen years. See her sweet strawberry-flavored lips brush against a neck, a cheek, brushing brown hair out of the way to breathe secret words into an ear. _It should be me,_ was practically the only thing I could think whenever I was in the same room as Mabel, _It should be me._

Upon opening the door to the Gift Shop, I found Mabel sitting on the counter by the cash register, and _him_ standing between her knees. I only saw it for an instant before he had leapt back, feigning innocence. My mind tried to fill in the details I hadn't seen; _were they kissing, was her hand in his hair, were his hands on her thighs_. I didn't want to know. But I'd wonder anyway.

“H-heya, Grunkle Stan,” he said to me with a casual wave. I had to force my face not to cringe, not to glare, but hearing that voice that was _almost_ the same as my own and knowing it was _him_ was...was...

“Hi, kid,” I muttered in response.

Soos followed me inside and shut the door behind him, as I watched Mabel hop down from the counter and slip her feet back into her shoes. _She was sitting up there long enough to kick off her shoes._ Suddenly, she met my eyes, smiling at me directly. Her cheeks seemed pinker than usual and I tried so hard not to think about it but _oh god, she's so cute when she blushes like that, from kissing. It should be me kissing her until she gets all pink and smiley and panting and oh god,_ her smile wilted a tiny bit watching my face, “What's up, Grunkle Stan?”

_Oh right, I'm her uncle. Her great uncle. I'm older than grandpa oh fuck, I shouldn't be looking at her this way, thinking about her this way, but I'm_ _**not** _ _Grunkle Stan! I mean, I'm her brother so I guess like it's pretty fucked up no matter how you look at it but my body is fifty years older than hers and that's just--_

“Grunkle Stan?” Oh, right, talking.

“Uh yeah, hiya....kid.” Ugh, this felt so weird.

She giggled, but she seemed a little uncomfortable, “Yeah, hiya. You alright?”

I nodded and shuffled by her to go to Stan's bedroom. As I left the room, I heard her sigh and say, “Why's Grunkle Stan still mad at me, Dipper?” _UGH_ NO, the words were rising in my throat and I could feel my tongue melding to the bottom of my mouth, _NO_. I rushed to Stan's room, pressing my back to the door once it closed. _I'm_ _ **not**_ _Grunkle Stan. I'm_ _ **not**_ _mad at you. He's_ _ **not**_ _Dipper._ I slid down the door till I was sitting on the ground, feeling my tongue un-sticking and the tears coming, “ _ **I'm**_ _Dipper_ ,” I growled in desperation, my voice too ragged and quiet for anyone but me to hear, “ _ **I'm Dipper**_ _..._ ”

My head fell into my hands and the feeling of Stan's fez instead of my pine tree cap still surprised me. I angrily swiped it off my head, watching it bounce off the leg of the table opposite me. The tabletop was still strewn with paper, some crumpled into balls, some torn to pieces. They contained all manner of incoherent letters to Mabel, the handwriting awkward, the words scratched into the paper so hard it had torn in some places. Unfinished sentences like _My real name is_ and _he’s not who he_ abounded. I had fought with all my might against my hands, but every time the pen drew too close to the truth, it either stopped dead and wouldn’t budge, or it slashed across the paper as if someone had slapped my hands. I had tried all of that first night, till Stan’s arthritic hands burned and throbbed with the effort and I fell asleep with my cheek on the desk.

I buried my hands in my hair, which was the wrong texture, the hairline the wrong shape, over a forehead with no birthmark. My hands twisted fistfuls of grey hair, sending a dull arthritic pain from my fingers to my funny bones. But I didn't care. I accepted the pain. Actually, in a strange way it was comforting to have a physical manifestation of the storm of pain roiling within me.

 _I'm Dipper, I'm Dipper, I'm Dipper, I'm Dipper,_ the thought looped through my head, obsessively, clinging to the identity that had been taken from me...by _him_. My lips drew back savagely from my teeth and I heard a voice that wasn't mine rumble, “ _Bill Cipher._ ”

 _Yeah, and you left her in a room with him. You leave her alone with him every day. Forget about being her lover, but what the hell kind of a brother are you, leaving your sister with the most dangerous guy you know, pretty much all the time? She sleeps five feet away from him! ...Unless they're sharing a bed by now._ Anger ran down my spine like a column of molten steel at the thought of him in bed with her. Watching her sleep, her trusting arms around him, him using my lips to kiss her awake, kissing her more and more deeply, that stolen hand sliding underneath the blanket, _You're such a coward! Fuck, Dipper, just because it's too hard for you, too hard for you to think about, too hard for you to watch, you run away! You fucking run away and leave her there, right in Bill Cipher's fucking hands!_

 _No, they're_ _ **not**_ _his hands! They're_ _ **my**_ _hands!_

I looked down at Stan's hands, blunt fingered, grey hair on the back and knuckles, scars I didn't know the story behind, rough, wrinkled palms. I let out a quivering sigh, _these are my hands now._

I'd learned about Disassociation in my Intro to Psychology class this past school year. About how sometimes someone's link to their own identity, sometimes their awareness of their own physical self, is tenuous. That they have periods of not knowing, not recognizing themselves. We talked about how this was often precipitated by an early life trauma, about how it caused Multiple Personality Disorder. That the person's subconscious would manifest another personality, another consciousness kinda, to fill in the blackouts and disassociative periods. I smiled bitterly to myself. This had to be the most convoluted case of Disassociation ever. Every instant of every day was a moment of disconnect, though, my internal self not aligning with the body I was piloting. _I guess it's more like Body Dysphoria,_ I corrected myself, _It's not like you have multiple personalities. You just know for sure that the body you're in is the_ _ **wrong**_ _body._

Somehow, trying to think about all this in academic terms had calmed me down a little. _Yeah, if academic talk still comforts you, you're definitely still Dipper Pines_. Soos called something about pizza to me up the stairs and I steeled myself. I would have to face them at dinner, and I couldn't keep just running away from Mabel. _I have to help her,_ I thought fervently.

 _Yeah, how the hell do you plan to do that, smart guy?_ My mind countered, _Your freedom of speech was handshaked away, remember?_

_There has to be some way. Maybe I can at least get her away from_ _**him** _ _. They're seventeen, I could say something about them sharing a room being inappropriate and--_

_Seriously? With no further explanation? They've been sharing a room for two weeks. Besides, it would break her heart if her Grunkle tried to come between her and her bro._ My heart twinged. I knew it was true, of course. I could try it and even if I did get some small change to happen, it wouldn't save Mabel. It would just make _him_ angry. And I didn't really need that. I tried to imagine how that conversation would go, saw my sister's beautiful eyes that reminded me of Hubble Space Station photos fill with tears, heard her sob-choked voice begging me, turning to him and begging him. _Make him see, bro-bro!_ Ugh like a knife in my chest, hearing my pet names directed at _him_ made me sick. There was nothing I wanted more than to have that gaze turned on me, warm and familiar, looking at me and recognizing it as me, calling me bro-bro or Dipstick or Dipper, geez, even Dippy (which I'd hated since meeting that goddamn 80s abomination of me from her mind) anything to show that she could actually see me. Much as I wanted to kiss her, and hold her, and uh _everything_ with her, it would have been enough just to have her look in my eyes and know that it was _me_.

But when I was called to eat some time later and after a series of deep breaths in Stan's room, on the stairs, just outside the kitchen, I walked into the kitchen, Mabel didn't even look at me. Her eyes were glued to the boy next to her. He wasn't wearing a hat and he had crossed his legs in a way that I normally didn't, but otherwise, I couldn't see any sign that that guy wasn't Dipper. As I neared the kitchen table, she finally looked up at me and (slightly nervous) eyes met mine. They were still gorgeous, obviously, and the look was still warm with familiarity, but it wasn't the way she looked at her twin. And why would she look at Grunkle Stan the way she looked at her brother? _Her brother, who is also kinda her boyfriend, and is also secretly a crazed chaos god._

I tried to brush away the thoughts and sat down in Grunkle Stan's usual chair at the table. Soos greeted me around a mouthful of pizza and I laughed. Mabel and...Bipper laughed too. As I reached for a slice of pizza, my eyes met Mabel's. They were glittering with the laughter of a moment before and she gave me a sweet smile. I smiled back, trying to look reassuring, _I'm gonna save you, Mabes,_ I thought steadfastly, _I've beaten him before and I'll beat him again._

 _Tsk tsk, Pine Tree,_ came that dreaded voice in my head, _a deal's a deal._

 


	20. New Dipper

**Mabel**

I spit my toothpaste in the sink, rinsed my mouth, and straightened my back. My reflection's wary eyes met mine, and I squinched my lips to one side, chewing the inside of my cheek. _Geez, I am so in over my head..._ I thought, staring at myself in the mirror. _I love Dipstick like cray-cray, but...I'm in over my head._ I grabbed my comb and ran it through my hair, fighting out some tangles as I pondered, _I mean, I'm having fun 'n' all, but I didn't think it would be like this._

Having Dipper as a stealthy bro-friend was definitely nothing like I'd imagined it would be. And I'd had _plenty_ of time to fantasize about it as I battled this crush for a year. I'd lie in bed, or sit in class, thinking about what it would be like to be Dipper's girlfriend. The way he gently explained things a zillion times when he helped me with homework, I knew he'd be patient and understanding. And the way he'd stood by me in solidarity, saved my life a whole slew of times, I knew he'd be protective and reliable. I had thought about how much he'd worry about us getting caught, how he'd get that adorable sad, skittish deer-in-headlights look in his eyes as he talked about it, in hushed panicked tones. I wondered if he would get tongue-tied around me, like he used to with Wendy, wondered if he'd try that hard to impress me. I hoped not. I loved my bro the way he was and didn't want him to change just because he was mine. Of course, these fantasizing sessions always ended in shame, embarrassment, me internally kicking myself for daydreaming about something that could never be.

But now it was. And it also wasn't.

I knew I was lucky. Especially those first few days, it had been so unbelievably amazing to learn that _he wanted me too!_ But it wasn't like I had dreamt it would be when I was pining for it back in Piedmont. It was as if the minute Dipper started seeing me as a girl, and not just as his sister, he had changed drastically. He wasn't particularly patient, in fact, he often seemed like he was in a rush or something. Always eager in a way that surprised me. And when I tried to talk to him about just regular junk, about missing Grunkle Ford or worrying about Grunkle Stan, he was not the understanding dude I'd known all my life, but seemed to go through the motions of comforting me before ultimately brushing it off. The strangest thing was how _risky_ he'd been acting though. I'd always been the reckless half of the equation, acting before thinking, consequences be damned. But something had come over Dipper. There were no overly-complicated lists about how to avoid detection, no panic attacks, no second-guessing and fear. Not only wasn't Dip scared, but he wasn't being careful. He seemed to enjoy the risk of kissing me in the Gift Shop, saying innuendos within earshot of Soos or Stan, sliding his hand up my skirt at the dinner table.

And I _liked_ that. But I also didn't.

I was _supposed_ to like it, I was reckless risk-taking Mabel, I followed my heart, I ignored the rules. But _Dipper_ wasn't supposed to be that way. And it had me all confused like. _Did I ever know my brother at all?_ I asked myself again, _Was that guy I daydreamed about a fantasy? Was Dipper ever sweet and cautious and insecure or am I seriously losing my marbles?_ Because lately, Dipper hadn't been sweet or cautious or insecure, and it was throwing me for the loopiest of all loops. The weirdest thing, in my humble opinion, was that I was still totally into him. He was different, no doubt 'bout that, but the new Dipper was, well, _hot._ I watched my own reflection blush as I admitted it to myself. I'd thought the broseph was a hottie for some time now, but he'd always seemed like more the scruffy-nerd, boy-next-door (as in the bedroom next to mine) derpy puppy kinda hot. Not the I'm-gonna-rip-your-clothes-off-and-melt-you-with-my-words kinda hot.

 _Jeepers, Mabel-girl, how long ya gonna stand there and stare at ya dumb self?_ My head reminded me, _That confusing brother of yours is waiting in the attic right now and don't ya think you should hop to it?_

I took a steadying breath, swung open the bathroom door, and walked right into Grunkle Stan.

“Oh! M-Mabel! S-sorry, I, uh, didn't seeya there! Whoops, ha, s-sorry.” He stammered, as he helped me to my feet and brushed himself off.

“S'all good, Grunkle Stan,” I replied, eyeing him curiously. He had been _so weird_ lately. Ugh, what was going on with the boys in this here Shack! “Ya all right there?”

“Wuh? Me? Oh, y-yeah, I'm fine! Just fine, doing fine,” He continued to stammer his eyes avoiding mine, _what's with the stammering?_ I had time to wonder before he quickly muttered a good night and went off towards his own room.

Upon entering the attic bedroom, I was stricken yet again by this new Dipper. The energy in the room was unusual, sorta charged. My eyes landed on Dipper's pine tree hat, hanging off a bedpost, where he'd left it for almost a week. _Maybe that's it_ , I comforted myself, _maybe he just seems different without the dorky hat._ When my eyes met his, it was enough to disprove that dumb theory. He was wearing the dark jeans he'd had on all day and had discarded his black tee shirt. His brown curly-ish hair was unruly, his bangs falling past his birthmarked forehead and shading his eyes just a little. He was seated nonchalantly on my bed, without a book or anything, seemingly just sitting there and waiting for me. I swallowed the lump in my throat, _why am I so nervous? He's my brother!_ , before greeting, “Hey, Dip.”

“Close the door,” was his response. I did. One corner of his mouth cracked up in a crooked smile, “Good girl.” he said

I laughed nervously, “You gonna go brush your teeth and whatnot?” I approached my dresser, “I gotta change into pa-jay-jays.”

He smiled a little dismissively, gave his hand a little brushing-off wave, “Go ahead, change your clothes.”

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, “Ya...ya just gonna watch me?” he nodded, “Okaayyy...” I wished my tone didn't sound _quite_ so uncertain.

“What's the problem, Mabes?” he asked, his gaze unwavering, “My hands have been all over you, why not my eyes?” _He has a point...I guess?_ I told myself, as I gave a weak shrug and pulled open the dresser drawer. As I chose PJs, it was weird to feel his expectant eyes. But, also, I realized with a spark of shame, kinda hot? Deciding to follow my life-long creed of rolling with the punches, I stripped off my shorts and blouse to trade for a tank top-ish yellow nightgown that fell to about my knees. Almost defiantly, I raised my eyes to meet his to find him grinning, “Good choice.” he said, gesturing to my nightgown.

“Thanks,” I replied, simply.

“Come on then,” he urged, scooting closer to the wall and patting the bed beside him. I couldn't keep the mischievous smile off my lips as I walked over and climbed into the bed. The proximity to him was instantly intoxicating, as he lay down, propping his head up with his hand as the other twisted a lock of my hair between its fingers. He smiled down at me, that sexy confident smile that had only shown up in the last week and a half. I could feel my face growing hot in this short moment before his lips fell hungrily on mine. As I gave myself happily into the kiss, part of me was wondering if he'd ever kiss me softly and sweetly ever again, like he did that first day or two. Then his hands were on my body, grabbing, squeezing, here and there the sharp sting of fingernails. He broke the kiss, his mouth making a trail along my jaw, along my neck, the tip of his tongue darting into my ear. His hand was moving under my yellow nightgown, the clammy heat of his fingers impatiently pulling my panties to the side. I gasped. His breath was hot and close on my ear as he said softly, “You're all mine, Mabel.”

Dipper's words sent a shiver down my spine, but my hips rolled up to meet his touch. _Who the heck was this guy who looked so much like my bro? And why did I like him so much when he was kinda scary?_ I raised my eyes to meet his, searching those familiar brown depths for some hint of the best friend I’d had all my life. But it wasn't there. He hardly even looked like Dipper, the way the lips were curled into a devious smile, the brows determined and harsh, the eyes staring right into me from under the dark fringe of his hair. Eyes still locked, his fingers plunged into me suddenly, stroking into me deeply, confidently. He bit and suckled on my neck just under my ear as he rammed his fingers into me, a little too deep for comfort, and held them perfectly still, “Mmm,” he hum-growled into my ear, “Mine.”

 


	21. Finally

_**Bill** _

_Finally._

It was the only word in my mind, the very center of my being as I pulled that lever, watched the device come to life. It was the middle of the night. I had slipped out of the attic once Shooting Star was deeply and entirely a sleep. I knew there’d be several hours of gravity disturbances and the more of them concealed in the night, while everyone was asleep and unaware, the better. Granted, the people of Gravity Falls were more accepting of anomalies than mortals anywhere else. If a few insomniacs floated out of their beds a couple times, no one would bat an eye.

Sixer was being rather sullen. I had urged him to celebrate, reminded him that this was a happy occasion, but was met only with stony silence and hateful thoughts. Oh, well, let him sulk. It’s gonna take more than that to bring me down.

I spent the next several hours sitting silently, motionlessly on the couch across from the device. My eyes never left it. There were three minor gravity blips as I sat there, myself and various light objects throughout the room floating up for a moment before falling suddenly back down. My thoughts strayed to Shooting Star, asleep up in the attic. Making her mine was a delight, but I grew weary of pretending to be Pine Tree, feigning doting affection and caution as much as I could stand. It was about time I let her see who I was, informed her that she was to be elected to queen of the universe. I stood from the couch, my hips popping slightly from having been in the same position for hours, and wordlessly left the room. There was no reason for me to sit and stare at the portal when I could be playing with Shooting Star.

Careful to make no noise, I crept back into the attic. Immediately, I was overwhelmed by Shooting Star’s presence, the familiar strangeness of her psyche washing over me. She was dreaming, her internal world wide open to me. As always, the reckless destructive streak in her filled me with an odd fondness, so unlikely was it for _me_ to find a kindred spirit in a mortal like her. But at the heels of that chaos was the other thing. That curious light that seemed so healing but only stung me when I approached it.

I wanted to snuff that light out, replace it only with darkness. For the umpteenth time, I nearly drooled at the thought of what Shooting Star would become. All of that impulse, all of that lust for power, all of that insanity, but with darkness at its core instead of that pesky _light_. She would be such a darkly radiant queen of destruction, _my_ queen, and with my hand in hers we would unleash all the plagues and terrors of humanity’s nightmares. Her tinkling laugh would ring alongside mine as our claws rent time and space to pieces, as we watched the very fiber of existence _burn_. And in a bed of smoldering cinders, to the echo of screams, I would take her. Our paradoxically fragile human vessels joining together, tearing each other to pieces and mending each other, a wet, agonizingly perfect frenzy drowning out whatever we hadn’t burned. The only two left alive.

 _Why wait?_ I wondered, my impatient nature nagging at me, _Maybe you can’t destroy life itself yet, but that doesn’t mean you can’t claim what is already yours._ Quietly, I walked towards her bed, dimly saw her curled, sleeping form. _Yes,_ I thought, _already mine._

I shed my clothes, letting all of them pool in a pile at my feet. With two fingers I drew back Shooting Star’s blanket and slid into the bed beside her. The shifting bed alerted her to my presence and her eyes fluttered open, slowly focused on mine directly in front of hers in the dark, “Dipper?” she said, her voice soft with sleep.

“Hey, sis,” I said, giving her mouth a quick kiss, “Sorry to wake you up. I missed you.”

Her face broke into a smile that just about lit up the dark room, “D’aww you big goob,” she gave my shoulder a punch, “Can’t get enough of the Mabel, eh?”

I grinned back at her, my hand sliding along her waist, pushing her onto her back and looming above her, “You have no idea.”

I could smell the blood heating in her cheeks as she blushed, “I-I guess not… Dip, we just played around before bed.”

My mind on the way her hand had cautiously cradled my body’s engorged lust, I shuddered, “Well, I want _more._ ” My lips fell upon her like an army, rushing at her and taking her like a prize, my tongue diving deep into her mouth, my teeth tugging her lips. She lay still in shock for an instant before her body came roaring to attention in my hands, her arms wrapping around my waist, her hands sliding down to my bare ass. She gasped, surprised by my nakedness, breaking the kiss for a moment before I was on her again. We kissed and bit and thrashed in the darkness, our movements casting her blanket off the bed. So absorbed was she in our kissing, she gave no sign of noticing when our tangled bodies lifted several inches off the bed before falling back, making the old mattress groan.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, her thin panties the only barrier between her sex and mine and I figured that was my cue. I tore my lips from hers, both of us panting, and forced both her arms above her head. Shooting Star’s eyes were twinkling at me, even in the darkness and I could hear the question in her mind, the lust throbbing in her body. Holding her wrists down easily with one hand, my other tugged her nightgown up to bunch at her collarbone. Her pale skin glowed in the subdued moonlight from the window. My mouth fell almost angrily upon her breasts, as my pelvis ground hard against her. Unable to bite it back, a moan flew from her mouth. I could feel the intense heat of her vulva through the thin fabric of her panties, but it wasn’t enough. My free hand reached down to tug them aside, accidentally tearing the fragile garment right off of her, making her jolt in surprise. I hungrily continued to thrust against her, nothing now between her wet heat and me, and I’d waited to claim her for so long and now here she was, nothing to stop me--

“D-Dipper, stop.” Shooting Star said suddenly,her voice frail with desire or fear, “I-I don’t think I’m ready to…”

I removed my mouth from her breast, raising my face to hers, not stopping the rhythmic roll of my hips against her, “Don’t you _want_ me, sister?” I cooed, peppering her face with kisses.

“You...you know I do, Dip,” she said, “But not right now. N-not like this.”

I lifted myself a little with the pretense of pinning her with a hurt stare, but as a result, pressed her arms and her pelvis harder against the bed, “C’mon, Mabes, I want you so bad, _Just_ like this… Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Her eyes searched my face, the confusion in her mind blaring at me, “Well, yeah, but.. Dip…”

I was getting weary of being persuasive, she already belonged to me. I pressed myself against her harder, her whimper making my cock twitch, “Well, _you_ can make me happy, right now--”

“Dipper!” her voice was harder all of a sudden, more alert, more urgent, “I don’t _want_ to, okay?”

“No,” I growled and gave her neck a harsh bite, “Not okay.”

“Dipper, what...what _the fuck_?” Shooting Star wriggled against me, trying to free herself but only rubbing her body against mine, “Let me go! I said _no_!” I laughed, an echo of my own laugh in her brother’s. She froze against me for a second before trying to push me away more fiercely, more desperately, “W-why are you laughing? If you’re messing with me, it’s not _fucking_ funny so you can just _knock it off now_!”

“Not messing around,” I agreed, my hand reaching between her legs to part her damp lips and let me in, “This is happening now.”

“Dip, Dip! Dipper, please, _please stop!_ ” she begged, those wonderful smelling tears springing to her eyes. I lowered my mouth to her face to lick them away, poised and ready to plunge into her...

But then we were lifting off the mattress again, gravity shifting, her hands pulling from my grasp as her head arched back and snapped forward, her forehead colliding viciously with mine. I yelped in surprise, my hands flying to my head, giving her the instant she needed to push me hard. Floating about a foot above the bed, the push propelled us apart. My back bumped the wall, as she drifted to the middle of the room. And we fell, I thumped onto the mattress, Shooting Star to the floor. She pulled herself to her feet, her tear-wet face looking at me uncertainly for an instant before scrambling out of the room, stumbling over the discarded blanket.

My hands still on my head, I cursed. _Well, that coulda gone better,_ I thought. I stood and pulled on my clothes, looking out the window as the horizon began to pale. _Oh, well, the device will be ready soon, and then I will have eternity to convince her._


	22. Guessing Game

 

**Dipper**

Mabel moaned. I blinked fully awake in Grunkle Stan's bedroom and looked around. I hadn't been dreaming about her. My penis (which I had been doing my best to ignore since being forced into this body) was soft in my boxers, further proof that the sound was no product of my subconscious. I sat up, grabbing my glasses from the small table by the bed, hesitating a second before grabbing the dentures, too. I figured I wasn't going to be getting asleep again, and according to my clock, dawn wasn't far off. I was just beginning to wonder if I had imagined the sound when I heard it again.

The second time, I heard the surprise and the lust in the sound, could almost hear how her breath hitched as the moan subsided. Automatically, my body responded to the sound before my mind caught up with my ears. _She's not moaning for_ _ **you**_ _, Dipshit. She might think she is, but she's moaning for him._ I grimaced, my stomach churning. I'd been in this body for two weeks and I wasn't sure how much more I could take. Pretending to be Stan would have been hard enough, losing my youth, losing my identity, that sucked a lot. But watching and...and _listening_ to Mabel and Bipper... that was too much. I couldn't take it. I covered my face with my hands, pushing the glasses up to my hairline, trying to ignore how completely this face still felt  foreign to me. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyelids until I saw stars and laid there, focusing on watching the formless blobs and shapes and the pressure of my palms. Trying so hard not to hear the occasional creak of the bed way up in the attic, or the sound of their conversation.

I sat bolt upright when I heard her tone change. I couldn't hear the words, but like an arrow into my chest, I _knew_ she wasn't safe. After seventeen years of life, I knew that that note of panic only slipped into my sister's voice when something was seriously wrong. Sitting up in the bed, I strained my ears to follow the sound of their words. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but Mabel sounded desperate. My heart was speeding up, thumping against my ribs, asking me, _begging_ me, to go save her. Then he laughed. But it wasn't my laugh, it was his. He didn't unleash it in all its spine-chilling shrillness, but I heard it and she must've heard it, too. I realized I had sprung to my feet at the sound.

I pulled on Stan's bathrobe over my boxers, impatiently pushing through the inside-out sleeve. The sounds of her pleading voice trickled down the stairs to me, and my blood was boiling. _I don't care if my tongue stays stuck down for the rest of my life, I won't ever say a word again, but I'm_ _ **done**_ _lying to her!_ Just as I reached the door, right before my hand wrapped around the doorknob, my feet left the ground with a strange lurch. I strained to grab the knob, but couldn't reach it as I floated one foot, two feet off the ground. In vain, I tried to propel myself with a breaststroke, floating weakly forward and hitting my head on the top of the doorframe. _He's doing this to me, dammit dammit dammit,_ _ **I need to get to Mabel!**_

And then, with no warning, I fell back down, my butt hitting the wooden floor hard. I winced, but pulled myself to my feet, and rushing back to the door, turned the knob. I reached the landing and heard clumsy, rapid footfalls on the stairs. An instant later, Mabel came into view. She looked disheveled and terrified. Her hair was a fluffed up cloud (I tried and failed to suppress the phrase _sex hair_ in my mind), her nightgown twisted, one strap hanging off a round, perfect shoulder. But my eyes were drawn to her face, trying to assess if she was alright. _Judging by her expression_ , I thought bleakly, _not at all._ Her cheeks were flushed and wet with tears, her often-smiling mouth pursed into a tight grim line. Her eyebrows were furrowed in pain and fear, her eyes so wide the whites were visible all around the iris. Her entire face was drawn with confusion and fear, and my heart ached when I recognized the other emotion there; betrayal. Her face relaxed the tiniest bit when she saw me, and ran headlong into my arms, “Grunkle Stan...! I-I-I-I...” before she could say another word, the tears hit her hard, her body shaking in my arms. Without hesitation, I pulled her into Stan's bedroom, shutting and locking the door. I knew a stupid lock wouldn't hold him out, but it gave me the illusion of safety.

I led her to the bed and drew her into my lap, cradling her as she cried. The sound tore at my heart, her pain was my pain. _And it's all your fault_ , I knew, _if you hadn't fallen for his tricks, he never could have hurt her_. It wasn't strictly true, but I didn't care. I felt like the biggest failure of a brother imaginable. Her tears gave way to hiccups as the sky outside slowly, slowly began to lighten, “Mabel... I'm going to protect you,” I said, gently, “Tell me what happened.”

She shook her head, “N-no, Grunkle Stan. I-I _can't_...”

“Mabel,” I said, evenly, lifting her chin and meeting her tear-reddened eyes, “There's nothing you can't tell me. I swear I won't judge anything you say. You're not in trouble. Please. Tell me what happened.”

Her eyes stared deeply into mine, and I saw a spark of curiosity there. She gulped the lump in her throat, forced the weakest of smiles, “I...Dipper and I...we're... in love,” she paused, assessing my reaction. I kept my face as blank as I could, nodded for her to go on, “Or...or at least, _I thought_ we were in love. But now, I-I just _don't know_.” her voice broke and I hugged her a little tighter.

“Did he hurt you?” I asked quietly, as gently as I could, pushing down the rage that was bubbling deep down. She nodded, with her eyes squeezed shut, “What did he do?”

She sat for a moment in silence, all the muscles of her face tense, before finally forcing out the words, “I...was asleep. And Dipper...Dipper got in my...bed... _naked_...” I held back a hiss, “And...at first...we-we just kissed...and that...that was _fine_ , I guess… He...he hasn't seemed like himself...” I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, _she noticed_ , “He-he's been... _mean_...and _weird_ , Grunkle Stan...just not-not like Dipper.” She wiped her eyes and covered her face for a moment before lowering her hands and looking up at me, “I thought he was just...” she shrugged, “I dunno...excited about _us_ finally...being a _thing..._ but tonight...” she hesitated again, her eyes dropping down to her hands, and I held onto her steadily. Mabel’s voice was significantly softer when she went on, “He...he tried to do...more than kissing...and he...he held me down...and when I said _no..._ ” she shook her head and raised her eyes to mine again, “He _didn't care_ , Grunkle Stan, he...he _wouldn't listen when I said no!_ ”

Mabel's words brought my blood back to boiling. I was sure she must have been able to see smoke pouring out of my ears. _He...he_ _ **raped**_ _her? He raped her with_ _ **my body**_ _...? And I didn't stop it?_ My face must have betrayed some of the livid hate bubbling inside me, because for an instant she looked scared that I was going to yell at her. I took a deep breath and quietly managed, “Mabes, he's not going to hurt you anymore. You know I'll always protect you.”

Again, I thought I saw the spark of recognition in her eyes before it fell away and she gave me another weak, wry smile, “I...well, at least I got away before he...really could...all the way.” Though I was glad she'd been spared that, it didn't diminish my hatred of him in the slightest. _He was going to. He would have._ As if she could hear my thoughts, Mabel went on, dismayed, “But, _why_ , Grunkle Stan? I don't understand why... why Dipper would... wouldn't _care_! He's...he's always protected me! Dipper...he's always been my...my best friend! And I...I miss him...” The tears began to fall again, “Why would he do this to me?”

I didn't want to cry. I wanted to be strong for her, I knew she needed Grunkle Stan to be a pillar of strength right now, but...well, I _wasn't_ Grunkle Stan. The tears came before I could stop them, hot and angry enough to burn my cheeks. But Mabel didn’t balk in my arms. No, instead, she amazed me, shifting to wrap her arms around my neck and pull me down into a hug, “Shh, Grunkle Stan...no.” she murmured, “Don’t blame yourself. Don’t...don’t hurt him, I won’t _let_ you hurt him.” My shoulders grew rigid, _how could she not want him dead?_ My anger raged, but my sense was close behind, _Because she thinks he’s you. She’s still protecting_ _ **you**_ _._

God, did that make me want to kiss her. I would never hurt her, but seeing how she would protect me so fiercely even if I did…? Well, it made me want to kiss her until we both forgot the name _Bill Cipher_. But I knew I couldn’t do that, I was Grunkle Stan, or I may as well have been. And right now, after her own _brother_ tried to rape her, the last thing in the world Mabel needed was for her trusted uncle to go and kiss her. Reluctantly, I broke our embrace. Her face drew back from my shoulder, and in the pale pre-dawn light, I could see her smiling at me. _Smiling at me?_ I smiled back, a bit confused, “What’s so funny?” I asked.

She shook her head, “It’s stupid, just a dumb thought popped into my head.” I cocked my head, my expression asking her to elaborate. She gave a somewhat bitter laugh, “It’s nothing. I just thought that right now, I… ha, I could really use a drink.”

I pulled a face, “Not Mack Manuel, he’ll only make this all _taste_ bad, too!”

Mabel blinked at me, silently. Her hands rose to cup my cheeks and my brow furrowed, _what is she doing?_ Her galaxy eyes, dry now, searched mine eagerly, intently in the growing light. My heart was thumping almost painfully from that _look_ she was giving me, like she was solving a puzzle or trying to adjust her eyes to complete darkness. She licked her lips, nervously. Watching the tiny pink tip of her tongue dart across her lips sent blood rushing south and _oh god, no, she’s sitting in my lap, I’m her_ _ **uncle**_ , I couldn’t take it anymore, “Mabes, why are you looking at me like that?!”

I watched a look come into her eyes. A warm familiar softness, and the brightness of amazement. Her eyebrows rose slightly and I saw a smile tug the corners of her mouth, before, softly she asked, “Dipper…? Is that you…?”

It was like I was drawing breath for the first time, and the air was so damn sweet. I smiled at her, disbelieving. I had given up hope that she’d be able to tell, that she’d ever look into my eyes and recognize me, “Mabel…” I said, managing a small nod, feeling my tongue getting pulled down.

“Holy cannoli! Holy hot belgian waffles on a Saturday, _you are Dipper!_ ” Her words flew out in a happy avalanche and she threw her arms around my neck and squeezed. I gratefully hugged her back, unable to verify it verbally. Too soon for my taste, she pulled back, holding me at arm’s length, the words pouring out of her as fast as they could, “Heck in a handbasket, you’re not Grunkle Stan, you’re _Dipper!_ You’re Dipper Pines! You’re my brother! Oh my god!” A questioning look came into her eyes, and she leapt out of my lap to pace a few steps in front of me. Her words didn’t slow down for a second, “How in the holiest of hows is that possible? Did you and Grunkle Stan tango on the Electron Carpet or something? Did you get possessed or tricked by some Gravity Falls spooky magic-majigger?” To my astonishment, I could feel my tongue loosening from the floor of my mouth, “What in the ever-lovin’ hey-hey bro-bro? What did you get yourself _into_? Did you eat some funky mushroom or something? Did you make a bad deal--?”

My tongue finally free to speak, I interrupted, “Mabel, holy shit, _thank you!_ ”

 


	23. Recognition

**Mabel**

I tilted my head, my questions running out even as they kept going round n round in my head.

“Yes, _yes_ , I made a bad deal, I didn’t know I was doing it!” _Holy Moses_ , I thought, _That sure as shitake ain’t Grunkle Stan’s voice!_ It wasn’t really exactly Dipper’s voice either, if we’re gonna get technical, but it was a whole heck of a lot closer to Dipper’s voice than it had been an instant before. It was still a little too gruff, but under that gravelly tone was a voice I realized I hadn’t heard in a while, “I made a shitty, _dangerous,_ stupid fucking deal and part of it, part of it was that _I couldn’t tell you!_ ” the more he talked, the more certain I felt that it was him. The word choice, the intonation, the way he reached out and cupped my face in his hands, just like I’d done a moment before, “But you guessing it, just, it broke that spell or contract or whatever.” he held my gaze and even in the semi-darkness, I saw the Dipper that I knew and loved in Grunkle Stan’s eyes, “Mabes,” he said, his voice aching for forgiveness, “I couldn’t tell you, _you have to believe me,_ I _wanted_ to tell you!”

Without knowing it, I was nodding my head like crazy, like one of those bobbleheads from the Gift Shop would in an earthquake, “Yeah,” I said, hardly thinking about it, my mind so jumbled with all of this, “I mean, yes, yeah, of course I believe you. You’re obviously _you_ , ya dork, now that you can, y’know, be _you_.” I was watching tears rising in Grunkle St-- in _Dipper’s_ eyes, as my mind fought through this new information. I was so relieved to have my brother back, it was hard to even remember what I shoulda been worried about. _If Dipper’s been Grunkle Stan since Dipper started acting weird,_ I thought and the relief all but evaporated from my mind. My eyes left Dipper’s to drift to the ceiling, looking in the direction of the attic bedroom, “But...if you’re _you,_ Dipper...then who…” my stomach turned over, “Is that...Grunkle Stan…?”

Dipper shook his head, grimacing. _Jeez Louise, Mabel-girl, how blind are you?_ Now that I knew, it was so painfully obvious that this was _not_ Grunkle Stan, “No,” he said, in that voice that was almost Dipper’s, “No, that...that’s a good guess, actually, but...I wish it was that simple.”

“Uh, simple?” I said, surprised to hear the sassiness in my voice. _Even being this freaked out doesn’t stand in the way of my sass_ , “What the _heck_ would be simple about my uncle and my brother-boyfriend switching bods and then my uncle-bro trying to…” _rape_ , I couldn’t say it, “...y’know with me.”

Dipper gave a sympathetic smile that was _so him_ and God, it was so weird seeing it on Grunkle Stan’s face, “Okay, point taken. This...this was all pretty not simple since you and I kissed.” he must’ve seen me pout just the teensiest bit, because he immediately corrected, “No! No, not like that was _bad!_ I mean, that was....that was, really _really_ great!” his enthusiasm faltered, “But it wasn’t... _simple_...and this--”

“Dipper, spit it the hell out!” I snapped, catching myself off guard, “Just please, _please,_ tell me,” I pointed to the ceiling, “Who the heck have I been gettin’ jiggy with all week?”

It did _not_ help my nerves the way his expression soured, his eyes dropping away from mine, “Mabel…” he started.

“It’s _worse_ than it being Grunkle Stan?” I asked, hating the cautious tone of my own voice.

He nodded, “It’s…” he covered his face, “It’s _Bill._ ”

My vision went black. I was dimly aware of falling to my knees, dimly aware of Grunkle Stan--I mean, _Dipper’s_ \--concerned hands on my shoulders, his voice regretful, self-reproaching. I didn’t really hear it, though, all I was hearing was that _laugh_. Just a short while ago, in bed with Dip-- _Bipper?_ \--as he held me down, and ignored my pleas...he’d laughed. And it had sounded _so wrong_. Nothing like my brother. Not really like any _human person_ I’d ever met. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to place it, maybe had been too scared to try. But now itt was all I could hear, looping in my head. Deafening. Mind-numbingly obvious. _How? How could I have been so stupid?_

 _What the heck does Bill Cipher want from_ _ **me**_ _anyway?_ No way could I be any use to any of his old shenanigans. I couldn’t help him take over the universe or weird out the world or whatever. I couldn’t do magic or fight. Jeepers, I couldn’t even make heads or tails of most of the stuff I’d seen in Ford’s old journals. I thought back on how Di-- _Bipper_ \-- had behaved in the past weeks. How recklessly he had risked us getting caught, how he had relished telling me what to do. I had doubted whether he was acting like Dipper, but I hadn’t for a second doubted that he wanted me. I could distantly feel my body shuddering, _No...that can’t be it…_ I knew Bill was a master at concealing his motives and all, but I couldn’t come up with anything. _If he was just trying to pass as Dipper, he woulda done a better job at acting like Dipper…_ I was forced to accept it, as much as it repulsed me; Bipper had done to me what he _wanted_ to do.

I’d thought Bill Cipher considered himself above humans? Why would he waste his time on me? He couldn’t _love_ me, no diggity-darn way he was even _capable_ of love. And yet… and yet…

Even if he couldn’t love me, even if he saw me as inferior to him, I couldn’t deny it. _He wants me_. No way to know if it was about sex, or companionship, or control, but for some janked-up reason, Bill Cipher wanted me. The same butthead that wants to destroy the world, the guy who calls himself a god, the guy who terrorized everyone I love, who stole Dipper’s sweet face and _twisted_ it… he wanted _me._ I felt some of my disbelief shift to rage. _After everything he did… to me, to my family, to the flippin’ world… why,_ _ **why**_ _, would I ever let myself be his?_ Bill could want me more than anyone ever wanted anything, it wouldn’t matter. I’d sooner die than be his.

Bit by bit, I returned to my senses, heard the Dipper-ish voice, begging, sobbing, “...was so _stupid,_ Mabes, I was so _weak._ I was such an idiot, such a fool.” I needed him to stop, the self-hating tone in his voice was _too much_ right now, “I’m so sorry and I...I get it, I completely get it if you can’t forgive me, if you don’t...don’t love me--” Without really thinking, I shut him up the only way I knew how. I kissed him, hard. And he immediately kissed me back. And it _was fucking weird._ Because it was one of those sweet, tender Dipper kisses that I had longed for in all those days of hard, mean kisses. That erased any doubt I had that this was def the bro I’d been missing. But it was also so wrong, the stubble on the upper lip too abrasive, the lips too wide, the taste all wrong. And as much as I thought it was what I wanted, my hands found his shoulders and pushed, and he instantly stopped, before I even applied the pressure. He met my eyes immediately, that sad deer-in-headlights look that Bipper had lacked, launching into more apologies, “Agh, Mabes, I’m sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I’m in Grunkle--”

“ _Please_ , Dip!” I interrupted, my voice almost plaintive, “Please quit _apologizing_! I kissed _you_!” He stopped, “Please just...tell me how this happened. How...is Bill...you?”

He winced, and I listened patiently as he explained. Every explanation brought more questions, but one stood out in my mind, and the minute Dipper paused, I asked it, “But what about that portal-lookin’ thingy in Ford’s room? Is that yours or his?”

Dipper gave me a blank look, “What portal-lookin’ thingy?”

I could feel the blood leave my face, “I was afraid you’d say that.

 


	24. Minor Setback

**Bill**

I paced the floor, staring down at Sixer’s old blue carpet under foot. One of the side effects of possessing a human vessel is that sometimes you adopt some of their mannerisms, so here was I-- _Bill Cipher!_ \--wringing my hands and pacing. _Pathetic_ , my mind snarled, and who could tell if it was directed at Pine Tree or myself.

 _Who’re ya calling pathetic?_ Oh ho, yeah, definitely not at me. No way was I pathetic. One little fumble was nothing. _Nothing!_ Had I expected her to resist me? To get away from me? No, I admit it. But, hey, as I said before, I’m not perfect. So I misread the room, so what? None of this would matter soon. Shooting Star would forget she ever knew the meaning of the word ‘no’, much less dare say it to me.

I could deal with her later. I shot a glance at the device, where it sat glowing and whirring, like some kinda beast waking up from a long nap. _Well,_ I thought, smiling, _That’s exactly what it is. And when it wakes up, we’re gonna all have so much_ _ **fun**_ _together!_ Precious memories of past conquests flooded my mind. Soon, I knew, they’d be mine again and none of them would be able to defy me. I could smell the mountains of carnage and taste the crackling magnetism of ozone. I could feel the membranous atmosphere in my hands, heavy like velvet, and hear the soundless thunder of it tearing easily under my touch. Most of all, the _freedom_. I mean, doesn’t get better than absolute freedom. No boundary between imagining and becoming. Watching my every thought manifesting in space, every nightmare I’ve ever created or witnessed taking form. _Oh, I am going to enjoy this!_ I relished the thought of the fear, the shock, the outrage that would greet me, all those stupid little skin-puppets that thought I had been _destroyed_ , that they could all just forget about me like I’d never even existed.

That could be Shooting Star’s first lesson; _never_ underestimate Bill Cipher. My smile grew, thinking how she’d weep and beg for the lives and souls of all those stupid mammals. How long would it take, how many skulls would she watch me pulverize, how many beating hearts would she see torn from gushing chests? Would it have to be Pine Tree’s soul wailing in pain, evicted from his body and at my mercy? I didn’t know what it would take, but I knew she would break, and when she did, she would offer me _anything_ to make me stop. I’ve always loved when they offer me anything. They never really stop being mine after that moment. And from then on, Shooting Star would never be free again. I could see it before me, the future that would be, the eons of deals, each trick subtler than the last, each one a link in the chains binding my queen to my side. And in time, she wouldn’t need the chains at all. I would be the last vestige of the mortal life she had once known, all but forgotten in the endless, mindless destruction we had wrought since then. Pine Tree would only be a flicker of an ancient dream by then, and she would be _mine_ , all her light burned away, darkened to cinders.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt my feet leave the ground. I felt myself being tugged in the direction of the portal and did nothing to contain my laughter. I could feel Sixer’s discomfort, watching his nephew’s body free floating off the ground, my victorious laughter pouring from his mouth. My reign was so close, just within reach, and I was going to _enjoy_ it! I didn’t hold back my laughter, didn’t stifle or quiet it. Why should I? The universe was mine! I knew Shooting Star and Pine Tree could hear me and the thought of them cowering together in fear was _hilarious_!

Shooting Star thought it was bad when I held her down in her bed before? Boo-hoo, you said ‘no’? Well, sorry, sweet cheeks, that word doesn’t exist where we’re going. And for that matter, neither do beds! Boy, was she in for a world of hurt! She was going to _wish_ she could go back to problems like that! As if ravishment by her brother would have been all that bad! I mean, she wanted him anyway. Just _wait_ until I showed her what sex was like in my new world order!

So she was pissed at me, so what? I was gonna have to get used to that. Almost-rape didn’t come near the things I was going to do to make her mad in the eternity ahead of us. She was going to be pissed at me for the next few hundred years probably. But even when I made her body immortal, I knew her rage would have an expiration date. When she forgot her brother, forgot that my face had once been his, forgot that the killing and the fires hadn’t been her idea to begin with, that anger would lose all meaning. I would be all that existed to her. Nothing outside of our partnership. No hint of the illusion of time. Yes, when she and I were the only two beings left alive, she would need me and love me more than she had ever needed Pine Tree. She wouldn’t be the first to worship me, but she would be the last. And her devotion would be eternal and unrivaled.

The gravity disturbance ended, depositing me gracelessly on my rear. Before I had pulled myself to my feet, I heard them on the stairs. I felt my grin twisting a little wider, _they really think they can stop me?_

 


	25. When Gravity Falls

**Mabel**

Dipper’s hand was comforting, but felt kinda weird in mine. It was too big, too calloused, too much hair on his knuckles. Def not the hand I grew up holding.. But I didn’t have to bug myself about it, I knew it was Dipper holding my hand. It mighta felt wrong to my skin, but now that my twin senses recognized him, they weren’t about to un-recognize him. I was trying not to think too much, not to dwell on the crazy overwhelming events of the last couple hours. _It’s not over yet,_ I felt my stomach sink at the thought, but I knew it was true.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, but Dipper squeezed my hand and gave me an encouraging smile. Or at least, I’m pretty sure it was _supposed_ to be encouraging. The constipated-looking way his eyes squished made it look like he kinda needed some encouragement himself. He didn’t look like Dipper, but he sure as shitake didn’t look like Grunkle Stan. My heart ached at the thought of my Grunkle, _He’s been waaaay gone and I didn’t even notice…_ I shook off the grief, there was no time to get mushy right now. Dip needed me to be strong and we needed to work fast. _Save the world now, grieve later._

Dunno what the heck I was expecting to see in there. The piercing sound of the demon’s trademark laugh had ended, and somehow it being quiet was actually freakier. We reached the doorway and I fought the urge to cover my eyes, only to be met with a distinctly un-scary sight. He was sitting there, right on his butt on that old carpet of Ford’s, smiling. Sure, the fact that he looked like Dipper was part of why he looked unthreatening. Even with his recent (now-explained) changes in personality, my brother just wasn’t intimidating to look at. But then his eyes met mine, hard and glinting and very _not_ Dipper, and his smile broadened. Grew and grew, past the extent of real Dipper’s widest grin, the edges of his lips straining and twisting. Okay, maybe I spoke too soon. With that distorted smile on his face he was one hundred percent, abso-tooting-lutely, certifiably scary.

“Hiya, sis!” he greeted me, cheerfully. The voice was Dipper’s and was Bill’s at the same time. Now that I was listening for it, I had no freakin’ clue how I didn’t recognize that shrill, demonic warble underlying my brother’s speech all along.

“Oh, shut your pie hole!” I blurted out, surprising myself. “I’m not _your_ sister. The jig is up, bub.”

He gave a short laugh, “Shooting Star, you’re too much!” He said, and though his own voice was chilling (and freakin’ _annoying_ ), it was still a relief to see him drop the act. Dipper’s hand closed more tightly on mine and he stepped forward, shielding me part of the way behind him. Bill somehow smiled wider and let out another laugh, “Well, well, well, look at _you_ , Pine Tree! Man, the years have been cruel, huh, you look terrible!” Dipper grew tense as Bill’s eyes returned to me behind him, “D’ya really think _that_ little maneuver’s gonna protect her?”

“You stay away from her!” Dipper growled, nudging me behind him all the way. It was a _way_ better growl, all rumbly, than he coulda done using his own vocal chords. I tried to keep thoughts of Grunkle Stan at bay.

“Reeeeeal knight in shining armor thing ya got goin’ on!” Bill said, finally pushing his stolen body to its feet. His eyes took on a wistful, reminiscing look, “Those tin cans were a real hoot to mess with!” He gave his head a little shake that was actually kinda Dipper-ish, apparently clearing away fond memories of tricking knights. He turned his face away from us and I peered around Dipper’s shoulder to follow his gaze.

I could feel Dipper grow rigid at the same moment as me, as our eyes fell on the familiar-looking device against the wall by Ford’s old desk. It was hard to believe it had undergone so much change since I had first seen it several days earlier. Not only was it complete now, but it was anything but dormant. It didn’t look quite like Grunkle Ford’s portal. For one thing, it was waaaay smaller, no taller than six feet. And the opening wasn’t round, because _of fricking course_ , it was triangular. _How the butts did you look at that spooky triangle machine and_ _ **not**_ _think of Bill?!_ I scolded myself, but countered, _The old one was a great big triangle, too, whatever. Doesn’t matter…_ But the shape didn’t matter, what mattered right now was that it was on. The opening was glowing, an indistinct color that seemed yellow one second and bluish the next, rippling and throbbing like water simmering and about to boil. My eyes fell longingly on the lever connected to the bottom right angle of the trianglular portal. It was the only control of any kind that I could see, and my hands itched to pull it and turn the damn thing off.

It was pure impulse, but before I knew what I was doing, I had pulled my hand from Dipper’s and my feet were flying. I was almost at my destination when the air seemed to close tightly around me. I felt like I was in one of those Chinese Finger-trap thingies, I wriggled but it only made it harder to move. There was a weird tingle of static or something on every inch of my body. I looked down at myself, heard my own yelp of surprise. All around me, along my surface, was the distinct blue glow that I knew to be magic. I struggled against my bonds, but it was no use. Bill's magic was stronger than any normal ropes or chains, I _knew_ that, but I couldn't just stand there while Dipper was in danger.

“Very cute, Shooting Star,” Bill practically purred, taking a step towards me, “Humans are such a headstrong bunch, but I’ll break--”

“Not another _fucking_ _ **step**_ ,” Dipper warned, approaching Bill with a cagey sorta walk that was way more intimidating in Stan’s body than it would’ve been in his own. Bill laughed heartily at the threat,  “I _mean_ it! You’re not hurting her, you’re not hurting _anyone!_ ”

“You can't stop me, Pine Tree,” Bill said rather calmly as he effortlessly dodged a punch from Dipper, “Might as well just give up and save yourself the trouble.”

“Not a fucking chance,” Dipper growled, swinging at Bill again but only grazing his shoulder.

Bill's laugh was merciless, “Have it your way,” he shrugged, casually flicking a finger at Dipper. It sent a golf-ball sized fireball which connected with Dipper's chest, eliciting a sharp cry. _No no no,_ the sound of Dipper's pain lanced through me and I heard my own gasp, _I gotta_ _ **help**_ _him!_

Dipper pivoted so that his back was to me, intent to place himself between me and Bill. I  could feel the pull of the portal behind me, not unlike Ford’s portal had felt when I was twelve. Not so much like suction or magnetism, more like a new gravity, as if the portal was the ground tugging me down towards it. I squirmed harder against the strange blue glow holding me prisoner, desperate to do something, _anything_ , to stop him.

“C’moooon, Pine Tree, ya ever gonna learn when to back down?” Bill drawled, easily dodging Dipper’s useless swings.

“Maybe when I’m dead,” Dipper spat, inviting more mirth from Bill. _Why would you_ _ **say**_ _that?_

“If you insist,” My eyes could hardly keep up as Bill advanced, casually flicking fire at Dipper as if he were only absentmindedly snapping his fingers to music. My restraints only pulled tighter as I fought them, helpless. Fire hit Dipper’s face, his knee, his chest. I couldn’t even bring myself to scream, I felt so useless. I watched in horror as Dipper stumbled and fell, clutching his injured leg. The portal whirred behind me and Bill’s laugh rang shrilly in my ears.

 


	26. Atoms and Molecules

**Dipper**

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_. It filled my head in a steady rhythm, no room for actual thought. It was un- _fucking_ -believable how much that magic fire stuff hurt when Bill wanted it to. Weird, ‘cause it didn’t hurt if it was just there to seal a deal. But when he wanted it to hurt, _goddamn_ did it hurt. It didn’t feel like being burned, it didn’t feel like blunt force trauma, it felt like the flesh itself was just _damaged_. Like it was trying not to be flesh, trying to reject that definition as soft human tissue, resisting on a molecular level. _I’m gonna disassemble your molecules!_ I shuddered at the memory of that old threat; was that what this feeling was?

Through the haze, I tuned back in to hear him gloating, though my pain-addled brain could catch onto only snatches of it, “...your sister...this body….nothing left....” _C’mon, Dipper,_ _ **Bill can’t win**_ , I told myself, trying to center my energy and move, _This isn’t about you, this isn’t even about_ _ **Mabel**_ _, it’s about_ _ **everything.**_ _The whole universe. Are you gonna let the whole_ _ **universe**_ _fall into ruin just because you’re_ _ **hurt?**_

It was with all my willpower that I could even open my eyes. I put the pain in a box in my mind, telling myself it wasn’t there at all. I knew it was denial, knew I was compartmentalizing, but it was the only way I could even try. Bill was looming over me (somehow he was able to _loom_ even while inhabiting my scrawny frame) his hand cradling a ball of blue fire like someone might cradle a snifter of cognac. His mouth was moving, twisted in that unnatural grin, and I forced my ears to hear, trying desperately to quiet the sound of my blood rushing to my head. I clued in just in time to hear, “So long, Pine Tree.” through Mabel’s tearful pleas.

By way of pure adrenaline, I managed to throw myself out of the way, landing painfully on my injured leg. The fireball sailed past me, instead meeting with Ford’s cluttered old desk behind me. Something there burst with an unearthly, sub-sonic _pop_ , and I squeezed my eyes shut to shield them from the sudden cloud of smoke. I choked on it, the smell like ozone and burnt plastic. Distantly, I heard Mabel’s disbelieving voice utter an uncharacteristic, “Holy fucking shit.”

 _Oh god, what now? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._ My mind complained, sluggish with pain, my adrenaline used up, _I’m sorry, I just can’t, I’m not strong enough._ But just as I was beginning to let myself drift, surrender to the blinding pain and impending doom, I felt warm hands draw me into a warm lap, and a voice said, “Stay with me, Dipper, you have to fight through the pain.”

The shock of that voice was enough to inspire my eyes to fly open. Ford’s face hovered over me, his grey hair dripping water on my cheeks, his eyes a bit wild, “Am I hallucinating or am I dead?” I grumbled indistinctly.

Ford smiled bitterly, “I’m afraid nothing quite so easy as either.”

I couldn’t help but smile at him, mistily. _My uncle! Ford,_ _ **holy hell**_ _, my mentor, my uncle, the Author, my friend!_ But Bill’s shrewd laugh cut through the dreamy disbelief of the moment and I tore myself groggily from Ford’s touch, _No,_ _ **no,**_ _Ford is gone! Bill killed him, this is a trick, this is_ _ **a trick**_ _._ I shook my head impatiently, clearing away the fogginess of pain, dragging myself to my feet, ignoring the hot melt-y agony in my leg, shuffling myself sideways. I looked between Bill and Ford. Bill’s smug smile was distorting my face but I could see a hungry anger in the eyes, while Ford looked concerned, beseeching me to trust him, his eyes twitching around the room as if assessing the situation. He _looked_ like my Grunkle Ford but how could I trust him?

“Dipper… I need you to _trust_ me.” Ford stated, almost as if he could read my mind. _Bill_ _ **can**_ _read my mind. Shit, he’s just an illusion,_ _ **Ford’s gone, he’s still gone**_. I shook my head, backing away from him. _**Trust no one**_ _._

“No,” I slurred, “No, you’re not… not my Grunkle…”

A brief flash of stinging rejection passed over Ford’s face and Bill laughed, “Oh, this is _rich_.” he observed, side-stepping in time with me, keeping himself directly in front of me. I thought I could hear Mabel crying but I couldn’t look at her. It was taking all my focus to stay upright, to not collapse again from the pain, to look back and forth between Bill and the man who claimed to be my great uncle.

“Dipper Pines, listen to me,” the Ford lookalike said sternly, “Have I ever led you astray?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I said, surprised by the heat in my voice, “Yes, yes, you _have_. You almost made me _leave_ my sister.” I kept my weary feet shuffling, “If you were _really_ my uncle, _you’d know that_.”

Bill kept circling on the carpet with me, his eyes glinting, apparently enjoying the domestic drama playing out before him. Imitation-Ford glanced down at Bill’s feet for a moment, with an impenetrable expression, “Dammit, Dipper,” he said, his voice hard like I’d never heard it, “That’s not _important_. There was no future with Mabel like the one I could offer you.”

I could feel fire blaze through me, hearing Mabel’s hurt gasp. _How dare he?_ I moved faster, trudging sideways in a circle with Bill. My anger at this pale imitation of my uncle provided the burst of energy I needed. I trained my eyes on Bill. I wasn’t going to let this cheap magic trick get to me. He wasn’t Ford. Ford would never say that about Mabel. Bill was still smiling victoriously, just enjoying the show, like he’d already won. My hands balled into fists. _He can’t win._

“ _Enough_ , Dipper!” The voice that was so like Ford’s said, “That’s enough, just _touch_ him!”

I don’t know why I listened to him. I was telling myself not to, telling myself he wasn’t the real thing. He was just a trick, just a sick illusion projected by Bill to distract me. But something in me was weak and it couldn’t ignore him. That voice, the voice that had taught me so much, given me so much praise and encouragement, saved my life many times before, it told me to touch Bill and, goddammit, I wanted to trust him. What he said struck a nerve... _why ‘touch’ him?_ I dropped my gaze from Bill’s face for a moment, trying to understand those words. My eyes fell on my feet and it hit me like thunderbolt, _Yes! The carpet! Of course!_  Before I could stop myself, my clenched fist was flying into action, connecting heavily with the cheekbone that had always been mine.

And I felt it. That weightless, un-anchored feeling that’s like falling and floating. That feeling I’d never forget, that was like nothing else. And then the mind-boggling pain lifted and only my cheekbone hurt. Grunkle Stan was standing in front of me, crying out in pain and shock, and I was filled with a sense of _coming home_. I stumbled back, disoriented, feeling my feet land on a different texture, wood of the floor. I knew I was in danger, but my fear was momentarily gone, lost in a sense of _rightness._ A rightness that was snug and mine, like changing out of heavy wet clothes into your favorite sweatpants that fit just so. I looked down and heard a sound something like a sob lurch out of me. In _my_ voice. At the sight of _my own_ body connected to me, and my own hands before me. I looked over at Ford. He had the most tentative smile on his face and gave me a small nod. _Not a trick after all._

 


	27. Darling

**Bill**

_NO_ , _this is_ _ **not**_ _happening._ The pain was enough to make even _my_ mind a little clumsy,  hard to believe Pine Tree had been able to withstand it at all. My chest, head, and leg were throbbing, and I briefly cursed myself for being so damn good at deconstructing the molecular structures of carbon-based life forms. I adjusted pretty fast, to the pain and the unwelcome familiar weight of being within Stan’s body. I glared at Pine Tree in front of me, at the look of dubious relief on his face. The expression vanished when all four of us were knocked off our feet by a surge of energy from the portal. Despite the pain of my damaged body, I laughed, “Tick tock, kiddos, the end is nigh and all that.”

Sixer took a couple steps towards Pine Tree, but halted when I flashed him a warning look. Pine Tree was glaring daggers at me, but there was a confidence underlying his expression that I couldn’t wait to extinguish. I was opening my mouth, threats rising to my tongue, but she spoke first.

“Bill.” all Shooting Star said was my name, but something in her tone silenced me. Pine Tree looked over his shoulder at his sister. She was kneeling by the device, where she had fallen, released from her restraints. Moments ago, she had been in a frenzy, crying and begging, desperate. But she didn’t look desperate now, she looked...intrigued.

“Yes, Shooting Star?” I asked, trying to soften my voice ever so slightly.

“Bill,” she repeated, and this time, I thought I recognized her voice. It was not unlike the tenderness with which she had spoken to me when she believed me to be Pine Tree, and I thought I heard the same current of desire I had come to recognize, “They don’t matter.”

“Mabes, what--” Pine Tree started but his sister talked over him.

“Bill, darling,” an unfamiliar shiver ran through me, _I’ve never been called that before_ , “They don’t matter at all.”

“I know that, Shooting Star,” I said, my voice passive

“Mabel, _what the hell ar_ \--”

“Quiet, Pine Tree,” I said, sharply, with a dismissive gesture at Pine Tree which stuck his tongue to the bottom of his mouth in a way that I’m sure was all too familiar by now, and planted his feet firmly to the floor. For good measure, I gave Sixer the same treatment. I turned back to Shooting Star, taking a few steps towards her, “What were you saying, Star?”

Her mouth curled in a slightly wicked smile, “I was only saying… well, I was dumb.”

“Ha, yeah, well, humans do that,” I agreed.

She was smiling at me in earnest now, nodding, “Yeah, you’re right,” she blushed, “That’s the thing, Bill, you’re _always_ right. I dunno how I never noticed that.” I could feel my own smile, spreading differently than it had on Pine Tree’s skull, “You know so much.”

I shrugged and laughed, “Yeah, well, trillions of years of omnipotence’ll do that to a guy.”

“Don’t be so humble,” she purred, only now rising to her feet, “I’m sure plenty of beings older than you aren’t equal to you.” I could feel the panic in Pine Tree’s mind as I took the last few steps, standing directly in front of her.

“No one’s equal to me, kid,” I replied.

“Exactly, love,” she said, slowly raising her hand to brush my cheek, “You’re unrivaled, I see that now.” she cast her eyes down demurely, and softly repeated my name, “Bill…”

I’ve always loved the sound of my name, but no one had ever said it like she did. Delicious.

 


	28. Betrayal

**Dipper**

This was worse. Worse than everything. Worse than hating myself this past year for wanting my sister, worse than the news of my losing Grunkle Ford, worse than being trapped in Grunkle Stan’s body. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was _watch_ as Mabel doomed us all.

 _How is this happening?_ My mind was numb with disbelief, _Could she be for real right now? Why would she do this?_

I watched Mabel’s hand rise to caress the face that I had worn until only moments ago. He leaned into the touch ever so slightly. And, _oh god,_ the way she said his name. Softly, tenderly, longingly. My mind went blank, empty of anything but betrayal, _I just got her back, it should be me, it should be me, it should be me._

“Shooting Star,” Bill said, his voice pleased but a little nonplussed, “What are you trying to say?”

“Bill, I…” I watched as her beautiful galaxy eyes flitted to and from his, eyelashes aflutter, “I don’t care what body you’re in or what dimension we’re in, but I want to be there with you.”

 _This must be what it feels like to have someone step on your heart_. What was happening? How was _any of this_ happening? How was Ford here? How was my body mine again and yet everything was _wrong_? How was Mabel--not just Mabel, the girl I loved, but Mabel, the girl who lived and breathed glitter and cried over roadkill--how was _that_ Mabel looking at _Bill Cipher_ like she meant to kiss him?

_Oh. That’s how._

She kissed him. _No,_ _ **this**_ _is what it feels like to have someone step on your heart._ I was transfixed and repulsed. She stood on her tiptoes, her hand still on his cheek, and pressed her lips to his. _She wouldn’t kiss me in Grunkle Stan’s body...but...but_ _ **him**_ … His arms were snaking around her waist, and they shifted a little, his back to the portal which meant his _face_ was in view and that smug wrinkle to the right of his eye made my blood boil. This was so _fucking wrong_. He was Bill Cipher and he was Grunkle Stan and he shouldn’t be holding Mabel like that. After a million years of agony, the kiss broke. His hands rested lightly on her hips, her hands on his chest. She giggled and my body felt like ice and fire all at the same time and _how could she_ _ **do**_ _this?_

“Shooting Star,” he said, his awful, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice making my ears ring, “You were always going to come with me. But I gotta admit, I’m lovin’ this change of heart.”

I could tell from even with her back to me that she was smiling up at him, in that way that was so cute and sweet that it seemed impossible that it could be so fucking sexy at the same time and _oh god, who_ _ **was**_ _she and how_ _ **could**_ _she and why_ _ **why**_ _was this happening._ Her voice came out soft and coquettish and kittenish in a way that made the bile sting my throat because _no she’s supposed to talk to me that way, no no NO,_ “Bill, do you know what I really want?”

“Whatever it is, it’s yours, kid,” Bill said, giving her a wink that looked so _wrong_ on Grunkle Stan’s face and _all of this is so wrong_ , “You’re talkin’ to a god here.”

“Well, what I really want…” She shifted her weight, setting her feet shoulder width apart, “ _Is for you to rot in whatever hell you came from!_ ”

And she pushed him. As hard as she could from what I could tell, right into the roiling, glowing heart of the portal. Before the shock on his face could turn to rage, he was gone from sight. The enchantment lifted off of Ford and he was at the device lever in an instant, throwing his weight upon it almost viciously, shutting it down. As it rattled, blinked, and fell dormant, the spell on me lifted as well. I stumbled, and before I could fight it back, vomited. I emptied the contents of my stomach, and honestly, was glad to be rid of whatever Bill had fed me. I wanted all evidence of him _gone._

My throat burning, I spit the acidic taste from my mouth and hesitantly lifted my eyes to Mabel. She was on the ground again, still as a stone, tears streaming dispassionately down her face. _She’s in shock_ , my mind catalogued automatically, _Heck, Dip, and you’re not?_  I took a few steps towards her before giving up and stiffly sitting on the ground.

“Mabel,” Ford said, his voice as impressed as I had ever heard, “You’ve no idea what you’ve just accomplished! You’ve just achieved what countless before you, myself among them, have failed to do.”

She blinked blankly and I turned to look at Grunkle Ford, where he sat slumped against the side of his old desk, “Ford…” I said, unable to believe that his name was on my tongue again, a little surprised to be commanding my own voice, “How are you…? What’s going on?”

 


	29. Flat

**Bill**

_Agony. Sheer agony. Everything, mind and space and self crushed, restrained, confined. Shock fresh like a raw, open wound. Tricked?_ _ **Tricked?**_ _This can't be,_ _ **this cannot be!**_ _No one tricks Bill Cipher!_

 _How can this be happening? I_ _ **destroyed**_ _this place! How can I be_ _ **here**_ _? I can’t bear it,_ _ **I can’t bear it!**_ _**Anywhere but here!**_

 _Rage, white-hot rage. How? How could this be? Everything was going my way, I was winning! An eternity of perfect chaos was just within my reach! She was_ _ **mine,**_ _the universe was_ _ **mine**_ _, the portal was never meant to lead_ _ **here!**_ _I took in my surroundings in a frenzy, the flat weight of that flat sky crushing me suffocatingly in this flat world I’d left burning. How_ _ **how HOW WAS I HERE?**_

_I was not supposed to be here! This dimension was meant to remain_ _**empty** _ _, a forever-burning mass grave of all those flat-minded fools who lacked imagination! What had Sixer and I done wrong that had--_

_**SIXER! SIXER DID THIS, THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR CONSCIOUSNESS!** _ _How could I have been so_ _**stupid** _ _, trusting the help of a bitter little flesh-sack with every reason to want to_ _**betray me?** _

_The rage crescendoed, erasing everything else._ _**Betrayed. BETRAYED.** _ _By Sixer and by Shooting Star. This horrible stiflingly flat wasteland is too tight to contain my fury._ _**Shooting Star, that weak snivelling little whore! SHE BETRAYED ME!** _

_I scream because it is all I can do. A scream like every knife ever sharpened in every dimension, black and cruel as every killing blow ever struck. I will be able to drag myself out of this hell that made me, as I did an endless lifetime ago. But it will take_ _ **too long**_ _to regain my strength, and it will_ _ **hurt**_ _again as it did then to tear my mind from my molecules, to disassemble myself to escape this prison and flee to the mindscape._

 _This is so unacceptably wrong! I was never meant to come back here, the only home I ever knew. The only home I ever obliterated. I was supposed to_ _ **rule!**_ _I was supposed to be a king--_ _ **NO, A GOD**_ _\--I was supposed to rule over an infinity of destruction with Shooting Star, my queen. She was the only thing I’d ever_ _ **wanted**_ _like this, the brown-haired mortal child with love in her starry eyes. For_ _ **me**_ _. Love for_ _ **me. For me. For me.**_ _She would give it all_ _ **meaning**_ _! The senseless, hilarious chaos of my entire existence, it was all leading me to that kingdom of ashes that I was to rule with Shooting Star!_ _ **How could fate have betrayed me!? How could SHE have betrayed me!?**_

_My scream ended and I was alone again. Alone, with the sound of the ever-crackling fires that I had lit so long ago. Alone, flat and betrayed and bested. Alone, as I have always been alone._

_Alone, as I will always be alone._

 


	30. Rest

**Mabel**

“I’ll explain in a moment, but first, I need to stabilize the rift into the Second Dimension,” Ford answered, distractedly, poring over the device. My eyes were still glued to the floor, but I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

“The Second Dimension?” Dipper repeated, his voice curious but weak, “I thought you told me once that Bill had _destroyed_ the Second Dimension?”

“Yes, and no,” Ford responded, “He did wreak chaos on his home dimension, ending all life, ‘ _liberating_ ’ it as he would say. But the dimension did not cease to exist altogether. It was still there, empty and in flames as he left it.” I was only kinda following what Grunkle Ford was saying, but I couldn’t help but shudder, “And he meant for it to remain empty,” I thought I could hear him smile bitterly, “We had other plans.”

“Wait,” Dipper said, “He’s _there?_ But I thought, the portal…”

“Went to the Nightmare Realm or the Mindscape?” peripherally, I saw Dipper nod mutely, “That’s what Bill thought as well. Because that’s what I wanted him to think.”

A humorless breath of a laugh left Dipper, “You tricked him?”

“Yes, much the same as he once tricked me,” Grunkle Ford responded. For a long while, we said nothing, the only sound made by our uncle’s work on the portal. Finally he let out a relieved but deeply weary sigh, “Okay, kids, it’s… it’s done. We shouldn’t have anything to worry about, at least for the time being. I’ll reinforce it tomorrow, but for now,” another heavy sigh, “I...I think we could all use some rest.”

“Wait, no, Grunkle Ford. I- you’re right, but,” Dipper cleared his throat, “But, first I think you owe us some answers.”

I dragged my eyes away from the floor to look at the two of them. My heart gave a sharp ache in my chest. They both looked so flippin’ tired. And though he was looking at Ford, I could feel how intently Dipper was avoiding looking at me. Grunkle Ford nodded grimly, folding his twelve fingers in front of him, “Yes, Dipper. You’re absolutely right.” Ford sighed again, meeting Dipper’s eyes, “I sincerely apologize for my actions earlier, Dipper. Your distrust was perfectly reasonable and I manipulated that. It was the only way I saw to get you back into your own body.”

Dipper shook his head, “No, Great Uncle Ford, it’s… it’s okay. You did what you had to do to stop Bill, I…” he cast his eyes down, “It’s not like _I_ had a plan, I was ready to _give up._ ” he groaned into his hands, “I was such an idiot.”

“No, Dipper, stop that,” Ford grimaced, “If anyone was a fool, it was me. Five years I saw him nearly every day. With our history, I should have been able to recognize Bill’s trickery instantly, but… I didn’t even realize Stanley was _gone_.” I was surprised by the sound of tears in his voice, it was jarring and weird, unheard-of for my Grunkle Ford to cry.

“Grunkle Ford,” I squeaked. My voice was so fragile, so pathetic, I dunno how I expected it to comfort anyone. Besides, as the look on Dipper’s face reminded me, the last time I’d spoken, I’d be talking to Bill. I wanted to say something that would console either of them, but the way Dipper wouldn’t even look at me... suddenly a new fit of tears hit me full force. Through the sound of my own sobs, I heard Grunkle Ford reiterate, “We’re all much too tired to discuss this any further tonight. There will plenty of time for discourse after we all get some sleep.”

A moment later, I felt Dipper’s tentative hand on my shoulder, urging me to get up. I shakily got to my feet, swallowing back my tears and followed Dipper’s rigid back out of the room. Ford closed the door behind us, and I did what I could to ignore the sound of his sob. It was only muscle memory that pulled me along, following Dipper silently up to the attic. I watched him stride into the room gratefully, his hand going automatically for the pine tree cap slung off the bedpost. He smacked it against the palm of his left hand, sending up a small puff of dust, before tucking it securely onto his head. I felt a twinge seeing it on his head. I’d had no clue how much I missed seeing that till now. Hat securely back where it belonged, Dipper collapsed onto his bed, a thankful groan sighing out of him.

My feet felt glued to the floor in the doorway. The room looked no different than it ever had, the arched ceiling and exposed wooden planks. My eyes fell on my bed and my stomach twisted. The blanket was still cast across the floor, as I’d left it when I made my escape. _Was that really only a few hours ago_? There was a slight depression in the pillow. Had my head made it or Bipper’s? I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself. _I can’t get in that bed._

I was turning to leave when his voice stopped me, “Mabel?” it was the first thing he’d said to me, “Where ya going?”

I met his eyes. Soft and earnest like they hadn’t been in ages, even with the shadow of something darker there. I felt tears in my own as I glanced back at my bed, “Oh,” he said, following my gaze. After a second of indecision, he scooted closer to the wall and patted the vacated spot beside him in bed, “C’mere.”

I hesitated, “You sure?”

He smiled at me and it nearly knocked me flat on my back. _That smile._ Forgiving and warm and knowing, a smile I had missed too much. That smile made it easy for me to walk over to his bed and lay down, realizing absently that I’d never changed out of the nightgown I’d been wearing before. For a moment, we just looked at each other, our faces resting inches apart on his pillow. With every second, the dark hurt look in his eyes was driving me crazier until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I looked away, but it wasn’t exactly better when my gaze landed on his lips. A rush of anger spiked through me, thinking how Bill had misused those lips, saying and doing things that _my_ Dipper would never say or do, kissing me so hard and mean and _wrong_. Like a magnet, his mouth drew me, the promise of those sweet, soft kisses that had made me melt. _Why should he want to kiss you, dum-dum?_

“Dip…” I heard myself saying, my heart aching at the prospect of living the rest of my life without one of those gentle Dipper kisses, “I’m _so sorry._ ”

I felt him stiffen next to me, but he murmured, “S’fine.”

“No,” I said, looking down at where my hand found his on the bed between our chests, “I...I was _desperate_. It was the only thing in my mixed-up noggin that I thought might work, but I didn’t _know._ I… I figured even if I couldn’t stop him, maybe… maybe I could at least keep him from jankin’ you up any worse.”

“Mabes…” I could tell Dipper was shaking his head from the way the pillow bounced. I looked back at his face, overwhelmed by the look of hurt and concern there, “You don’t have to explain yourself...I’m not _mad_ at you. It just… freaked me out to see that. I…” he bit his lip, “I didn’t know if it was an act or… if you really--”

“Dip! You thought I actually…!?” my voice was sharp with offense.

He closed his eyes wearily, “Yeah, no… I don’t know.” he squeezed my hand, “It, it doesn’t matter. He’s gone now and I’ve got you.” I smiled at him even though he couldn’t see. I had so much left to say, but the next time I blinked, I fell deeply asleep.

 


	31. Worth Waiting

**Dipper**

_Finally...a good dream…_ It had been nothing but dark dreams lately. Most nights, I barely shut my eyes before the images of Weirdmageddon were projected within my head, lurching and sickening. Fires that never went out, tumbleweeds made of teeth and splintered bone, and that dizzying gash in the sky, a wound bleeding nightmares from another world. But tonight, finally, _finally,_ a good dream.

In my dream, I was myself again. The incorrect feel of Stan’s body was gone, like I had stripped off an ungainly costume. I was in my own skin, my own body. In my dream, it felt as right as I remembered. I was warm and I realized with pleasure that Mabel was in my arms. Mabel had only factored into my nightmares as a source of pain; she was always being hurt or taken from me. But by some act of mercy, my subconscious was letting me dream of just holding her, and I was going to enjoy it. I luxuriated in her soft warmth against me, the tickle of her hair against my forehead, the mist of her breath on my face.

The feeling of her breath caught my interest. It was so delicate, a slow, regular flutter of air against my lips and chin. It was so warm, her face must’ve been close to mine. Close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. In the languid way of dreams, thinking it made it happen. I only had to move my head a fraction of an inch before my lips found hers.

 _Fiiiinaaaaaalllyyy_ , the relief sighed through me like a prayer. Even if I was only dreaming, it didn’t matter. This dream was vivid enough, and I was lucid enough, to allow myself to get lost in it. Her lips were too soft, so delicate and pliant that I had to press further against them for proof they were there at all. They didn’t taste like the strawberry lip balm I remembered so well, only like her own natural sweetness that was so completely and undeniably Mabel. She made a small, happy sound into my mouth, and my heart leaped. My palm felt the dove-soft skin of her cheek and I realized I had lifted my hand at all. My fingers traveled back, behind the delicate shell of her ear, through the tangles of her long hair. As they ran down her back, the feeling of her warm skin beneath a layer of thin cotton was overwhelmingly real. _I’ve never had a dream this real,_ I thought as the kiss deepened, her lips parting lazily to admit me. I wondered if I’d died and had gone to heaven as opposed to creating such a perfect dream.

The answer didn’t matter. Mabel was responding to me, her sweet tongue slowly running along mine, her body snuggling closer. _I don’t care if I’m dreaming_ , I thought stubbornly, desire awakening in me at her soft body’s movements, the dreamy sounds she was making. _I don’t care if I’m dead, at least I won’t have to live any longer without her._ My hands flattened more longingly on her back, she whined softly, a sad, intoxicating sound that only made me want her more. My touch travelled down the graceful curve of her hip. I heard a muffled moan escape me when my hand passed the hem of her nightgown and met with the silky skin of her leg. I could feel my erection straining against my jeans (I didn’t know why I dreamt something so inconvenient and uncomfortable) and at the feel of her bare skin, it twitched eagerly. I was kissing her harder now, hungrily, and she was whimpering and squirming sweetly in my tight embrace. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and the echo of its rhythm as I pressed my groin against her thigh. My hand glided up from her knee, travelling between her legs, feeling the heat of her soft thighs where the clamped tightly together. A beautifully urgent moan pressed into my mouth. I heard myself growl against her sweet, tremblings lips as my fingers ventured further. Through the valley of her quivering, straining thighs and, _finally_ , entering the euphoric wetness of--

All at once, it became _painfully_ apparent that I was awake.

And I’m not using ‘painful’ as a figure of speech. Blinding pain exploded between my thighs, teeth sank into my tongue, and my ears met with a sound that nearly stopped my heart. Now completely alert, as the teeth loosened and my body curled around the pain from my groin, my mind was catching up with what was happening. Small hands balled into fists were pressing hard on my chest, soft thighs clenched tightly on my hand, trying to keep it away, and echoing in my ears was a frantic cry of one word, ‘ _stop’._

I wrenched my hands away from her quaking body, pulling them against my chest. Dreading what I knew I would see. I forced my eyes open, ignoring the pain from Mabel’s knee. She was lying on her side, facing me, as I knew she would be. Her hands were still clenched into fists, poised to hit me again if she had to. But it was her face that I could hardly bear to behold. She was crying with abandon, her face red and wet, her teeth bared in a pained snarl. _It wasn’t a dream,_ I thought, the events of the last hours coming back to me, _Oh, god, it wasn’t a dream…_ No, she hadn’t been squirming with pleasure, she hadn’t been whimpering with desire, she hadn’t been quivering with arousal. She was trying to _get away._ She was trying to _stop me_.

“Mabes…” I tried weakly, my voice cracking, “I’m so--”

“ _NO!_ ” she all but screeched, her hands flying to cover her ears, “Don’t use his voice!”

“Don’t use…?” I blinked, not understanding, “Mabel--”

“NO! Stop it, _dammit!_ ” she scooted back, away from me, falling onto the floor. She shook her head frantically, “You’re not Dipper!”

 _Oh._ I felt my heart give a little in my chest. She thinks I’m still _him._ A surge of heat in my veins, _why shouldn’t she? After what you just did, you’re no better than him_. I watched, helplessly, as Mabel’s knees curled to her chest, her hands covering her face. _I did this to her._ I wanted to explain, defend myself, but what right did I have? She never would have gotten hurt in the first place if it hadn’t been for me. I pulled myself into a sitting position, back against the wall. Even with Bill gone...would the damage ever be undone?

“D-Dipper…?” Mabel’s voice was cautious and small. I realized my eyes had fallen closed, because they opened when she spoke. I was still sitting up on my bed, but she had sat down beside me.

“Mabel,” I said, not knowing what to say, hoping my pained tone would do some of the explaining.

“Dipper… it is really you, right?” Her eyes darted up to mine, and the fear in them was like a knife in my gut. I nodded in answer to her question, feeling my eyes well up. She covered her face again, “Oh _no_ , it _is you._ ”

“W-what?” she… didn’t want it to be me?

“No, no, Dip,” she shook her head, “I’m _glad_ it’s you. But if it’s you, that means I… I had no reason to flip out!” She raised her head again, her eyes imploring, “I’m so, so, sorry!”

“No, Mabes, _no,_ ” I wanted so badly to pull her into my arms but I resisted, “No, _don’t_ apologize! I had no right to presume… I-I shouldn’t have… I didn’t ask if you wanted… and after what he did…” I placed my hand on hers between us on the bed, tentatively, “ _Regardless_ of what he did. If I did something you didn’t want me to do, you had every reason and right to flip out!”

I was surprised, but grateful, when she threw her arms around me a second later, crying into my neck. I held her securely, but not too tight, my hands rubbing her back and petting her hair. I don’t know how much time went by like that, until her tears ran out. She sat back a little, and I found myself looking into her beautiful eyes. Dewy with tears, the stars in her twining, brown galaxies twinkled at me sadly. Without closing her eyes, she placed a hand on either side of my face and planted a few delicate, salty kisses on  my mouth. She rested her forehead against mine and sighed, her sad eyes still searching mine, “Dipper,” she said, so softly it was little more than a whisper, “ _I love you_.”

My heart soared and fell at the same time. Hearing her say that was all I’d wanted for so long, more than I’d expected to ever get again. And yet, the way she said it, so sad and frail, made me ache. I wanted to heal her, adore her, kiss and caress away all of her pain. My lips were just parting to tell her I loved her when she started speaking again, “I love you so much, but…” she wet her lips nervously, “I don’t know when I… when I’ll ever be able to… _if_ I’ll ever be able to--”

“Mabes, no,” I interrupted, my hands rising to cup her jaw in mine. I shook my head a little, our foreheads rocking against each other, “I don’t care. I mean, no, I _care._ I care _so much_ about if you’re okay.” My thumb wiped a tear away from her cheek, “But I don’t care about _that_. Don’t worry about _giving_ me anything. Even if you can never kiss me again, I don’t care. I just want to keep you safe, Mabes,” I kissed the reddened tip of her nose, “I just want you to be happy.”

A choked, sad little sound bubbled from Mabel’s mouth, somewhere between a giggle and a sob, “You’re such a sweet goob, ya know that?” she said.

“You don’t let me forget it,” I said with the ghost of a chuckle.

She sighed against my face, and gave me another kiss. It wasn’t quite as chaste and fluttery as the last, her tongue just brushing against my lips before she pulled away again, “I dunno, Dip, a goob like you shouldn’t waste your time waiting for--”

“No, stop,” I interrupted her, “It’s not a waste of time. Because you’re worth all of my time,” I tucked a frizzled, damp curl behind her ear, “You’re my favorite person, remember? I’d wait a lifetime for you.”

She smiled sweetly, despite the tears on her cheeks, “You’re my favorite person, too, Dipstick.” she wrapped her arms around me and I held her close, “It’s so good to have you back.”

I kissed the top of her head, “It’s good to be back.”

 


	32. Birthday (Epilogue)

******Mabel**

“Be right there, Grunkle Stan!” Dipper called. It was weird to hear him call Grunkle Ford that, but there were enough people downstairs that it was too risky otherwise. Dipper smiled at me, “Mabes, we really need to get down there, they’ll get suspicious.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere yet, Dippinsauce,” I said, with a playful kiss to his nose, watching as he got all red. I had him pressed against the inside of the attic door, my hands pinning his to the wood. ‘Course I knew I wasn’t really keeping him there, he could throw me across the room if he wanted. But he never did. In the weeks since all the craziness went down, Dip had not once pushed my limits with anything like that. _Besides,_ I thought with a wave of happy smugness, _it’s not like he actually wants me to stop._

“But Mabe--” I silenced him by laying my lips on his, feeling his complaints melt at once under the heat of the kiss. Our lips and tongues fell into the dance-like rhythm that was growing so familiar. His kiss was doting and gentle in the way that I loved, but the force of his passion was right under the surface. Mine met his, furiously. With each passing day, our kisses had delved deeper into the well of desire between us until a couple weeks back we’d finally managed a whole makeout sesh without a single ‘are you okay?’ or even the hint of a ‘I gotta stop’. Our improvement made me bold and now every kiss was harder, needier, braver than the last.

Dipper moaned quietly into my mouth as I pressed my body against his. It felt so bonkers good to finally be able to do that these last few days. I couldn’t get enough of the feeling of him flush against me, his body hard and warm under his clothes. I purred at the feel of his erection against my tummy, wriggling against him and eliciting another delicious moan. My hands longed to run down his body, from his shoulders, along his sides, and coming to close on his hips. Just as I was releasing his wrists to obey the urge, Soos’ voice came from downstairs, “Hurry uuuup, doods, we’re gonna eat the cake without you!”

Dipper pulled out of my loosened grip and broke the kiss. I gave him a little pout, but he only rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand, opening the door, “C’mon, Mabes, I _know_ you’re not about to miss out on cake.”

I smiled up at him and shrugged, “Okay okay, ya got me.”

Right as we were about to leave the room, he planted another wet kiss on my mouth, “Believe me,” he said, his quiet voice making my yearning for him burn a little brighter, “I’d rather keep doing what we’re doing.”

“Oh, I know ya would, big guy,” I said with a saucy glance down at the bulge in his pants. His cheeks got redder and I gave one of them a small peck.

“You can be so mean,” Dipper said, with a shake of his head, as we started down the Mystery Shack stairs to the celebration waiting for us below.

“Yeah?” I said, and he nodded. I grinned widely at him, “Well, ya might change your tune when I give you your birthday present later.”

His eyes widened a little and he groaned, but couldn’t help but smile, “Okay, Mabes, you win.”

I giggled as we reached the ground floor, the sounds of our friends floating in from the yard, “I didn’t know it was a competition,” I said, cheekily, “But I’m _definitely_ winning.”

Dipper released my hand the instant before we emerged from the Shack, greeted by Ford’s honest smile under Grunkle Stan’s old fez, and a chorus of unsynchronized voices cheering, “ _Birthday twins!_ ” The late summer sun was bright overhead and with cake at the ready and my brother laughing beside me, I felt ready to conquer the world.

  
  
  


 


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